Rearranged
by fermataoso
Summary: Companion piece to That Can Be Arranged, from Fiyero's POV: "Fiyero smoothed his fingers to banish the fidgeting. His bride would be fine. Not a shrew, nor a harlot, nor terrorized at the mere sight of him. Everything would be fine." Tigelaar-Thropp wedding
1. Prologue

Memories jumble like old photographs: Sarima. His future. His past.

* * *

"Fiyero!"

He finds the ball first, chasing it down. Mother can wait.

"Where are you?"

There. He shoves his sticky bangs off his forehead and clutches the ball from the thorns. Proud, he grins as he jogs back. "Coming!"

She's outside, with his father, who is frowning at him. For a moment he regrets waiting, but he's gotten the ball. A girl is beside them, and what must be her parents. Her summer dress has poppies and bumblebees, and her pigtails have butterflies at the top. She's pretty, he thinks.

Everyone's staring at him.

He swipes at his messy hair, aware of the sweat dripping along his temples, but she smiles when she sees his ball.

"Fiyero, meet Sarima, your betrothed."

He frowns. "What's betrow?"

The adults smile, and he puckers his lips. How's he to know? It sounds like a stupid grown up word anyway.

"Hi."

"Hi." She walks up to him, but doesn't say more.

"Wanna play?" He holds out the ball even though he doesn't want to, and she smiles when she takes it. She runs off with it. Her toss sends it back to the thorny brush, and he dives after it.

He retrieves it and tosses it himself, high as he can, and catches it. Again. She frowns, and when he tosses it this time, she bumps him out of the way to catch it.

He runs after her, but he lets her have it again. He likes it when she smiles.

* * *

"Arg, I'll take ye sword!" Fiyero clambers across the catwalk and swings his own stick at his friend.

"Never!" Aruc ducks, and the momentum carries Fiyero into the wall. "Alright?"

He rolls his eyes. "We're fine. It's no higher than Mount Rijiks, and you climb that all the time."

"I'm not scared." Aruc stabs his stick forward, and Fiyero dodges. "You're scared."

"Your face is scared."

"Your mom's face is scared."

"You just insulted your queen." His friend's face pales, and Fiyero barks out a laugh. "Have at thee!" He snatches Aruc's stick, and the boy wavers. Fiyero snaps a hand out for balance, but Aruc clutches back the makeshift sword with a grin.

They parry. Fiyero's wonders if pirate ships sway like the center walk. He wishes he could be a pirate sometimes, free to do as he likes and answerable only to the sea.

"Don't you need to go meet that girl?"

"Nah." He ducks past Aruc in a daring maneuver. "She'll want to play house, or wedding, or some stupid girl nonsense."

Fiyero swings his stick in an arc, and Aruc catches it tightly. "Ha, you've got a girlfriend."

Fiyero wrinkles his nose. "Nuh uh!"

"You do!"

"Shut up!" He yanks the stick away, and Aruc teeters. For a heart-stopping moment, his feet slip, and then Fiyero pulls him back upright. "Fine," he pants. "I'm tired of playing pirates anyway."

They sit, feet dangling off the catwalk, and he tries not to think that Aruc might be right.

* * *

"Yes, Father?"

The king looks up, and sends the others away.

"You called for me?"

He points to the chair near the window, and Fiyero sits. His father watches him a moment. What he's looking for, Fiyero isn't certain, but he tries not to fidget either way.

"You have to be kinder to Sarima."

That's what this is about? Ugh, that girl. His petulance must show on his face because his father frowns.

"She's your responsibility."

He fists his hands at his side. "All I have are responsibilities."

The king narrows his eyes. "That's the way privilege works, son. If you're going to be the prince, you have to carry-"

"Carry the weight of our people with all our strength, for the duty and honor of our noble institution." Fiyero intones along. "Maybe I don't want to be the prince."

His father sighs. "I know, son. Sometimes I don't want to be the king. But we are who we are."

Fiyero looks at his hands to hide from the bald truth his father has laid before him.

"And Sarima is who she is. Have you thought maybe she feels as you do?"

Fiyero frowns at his knuckles. "No." He hasn't thought of how she might feel at all. Does no one care how _he_ feels?

"And when she is the mother of your children, I doubt you'll want to think back on how you've treated her."

His face screws up at the thought of that, and his father chuckles.

"Have you not realized that is part of your duty? To provide an heir or two, not to mention grandbabies for your mother."

Babies? Gross.

His father sets a large hand on his shoulder, and though they don't speak, Fiyero thinks his father might understand after all.

* * *

"Come on." Fiyero flashes his best bedroom eyes. "We're going to get married someday anyway."

Sarima rolls her eyes.

He trails a hand over her arm. "Married, with a couple little ones running around."

She makes a face, but she doesn't brush him off. He twines their fingers. "You say that like I'm begging to have your babies."

"No, but," he slides closer. "I mean, we're going to, aren't we? So why not…you know."

She returns his kiss gently and pulls away. "I'm not exactly keen on having your babies right now, for sure."

He leans back and tries not to pout. What's the point in having a girlfriend if you don't get the perks? Aruc is convinced they're already having so much…perks…that he teases Fiyero mercilessly.

For once it would be nice if it were true.

* * *

"I can't believe you."

Fiyero pulls his hand out of What's-Her-Name's shirt and tries to look as innocent as possible. But Sarima turns on her heel and storms out.

A small piece of him wants to continue, feels he's done nothing wrong, that his responsibilities don't extend to never kissing another girl ever.

But he follows.

She's in front of the window, looking out, and he's struck with a sudden sense of rebellion.

Is it his fault that girls all want to be with a prince? That his being off limits makes them hot? He's just giving the masses what they want.

He's ready to tell her that when she turns. Her eyes are wet, but her tone is quiet. "Why?"

His answer tumbles out. "Because I'm an idiot."

She doesn't answer.

"Because I'm selfish."

She huffs.

"I'm sorry." And he finds that he means it. "Don't cry."

Her laugh is cold. "What did you think I would do when I found out? Pat you on the back?!"

He didn't think at all. It must show because she takes a step away.

"You," she bites her lip. "Your actions affect others, you know."

He hangs his head. "You're right. Can you forgive me?"

"I don't know." For a long moment they stand at a loss for words. Then she turns back to the window. "I mean, I have to, don't I?"

He sets his hands on her shoulders. The sudden rush of understanding makes him want to slap himself. She's as trapped as he, only she's not acting like a fool. "No." If she wants to be free, he'll find her a way. "But I hope you do."

* * *

"You didn't have to do all this."

He bumps her nose. "Of course I did. It's your birthday."

She'd done so much for him. He knows she's the one who helped him grow up, accept his responsibilities instead of fighting them so hard.

He pours the bubbly drink and passes her a glass. "To the most beautiful girl in Oz."

"Right," She scoffs and slides a finger over the poppies on her lap. "You're confusing me with my sister. She's the one who needs flattery and reassurance."

He slips an arm around her shoulders. "I know you don't need it. But you do deserve it." He presses a soft kiss to her crown.

She turns to him and leans up for a proper kiss. "Thank you. It's nice to get out of the palace."

"Of course." He kisses her again, grateful to have her as a partner in this. She brings out the best in him, despite knowing first hand all the worst.

She grips his shirt to pull him closer, and he deepens the kiss. Oz, she feels so good. Part of him can't help hoping that this will be the time they finally-

Cold! They jump back, and she's blushing, her glass empty in her hand. "Sorry! I don't know what happened."

Her hand is still twitching, and for a moment they both stare at it. Then they start laughing. He's sticky and wet, but filled with a weightless happiness that isn't touched by the failure.

"No worries." And for a brief moment, they believe that lie, happy to be young and free and in love.

* * *

"Don't look at me like that."

He can't stop. The words rattle in his head, "Twelve months, maybe fifteen."

She hides her fingers, and he knows they're twitching again. She's learned to hide it well. Her head looks natural where it rests on the cushions. Not at all like she just can't hold it up.

"I can't stand it when you pity me."

He brushes a hand to shift the hair from her face. "It's not pity. It's care. Not at all the same."

She sighs. He knows she hurts. What he would give to let her spend a day without hurting.

She tries to sit, and he moves to prop her up. A shaky hand reaches for her brush, and he knows she can't, but that he has to let her try.

Finally she gives up and passes him the brush. He combs it through her hair smoothly, glad to do at least this for her. She hums a song, and he finds the brush strokes have sunk into her rhythm. It soothes them both.

"When will we be married?" she asks softly.

Did she know? He finds either way he can't say. Can't make it real. Instead he presses a kiss to her temple. "When you're better."

A lie, but her feelings come first. She always comes first. Always.

* * *

The smell of cedar and poppies can't hide the aroma of death in the air. He draws a deep breath, uncertain if he can shoulder the responsibility set before him this time. How is he to face this?

Aruc meets him, and for once his easygoing friend is at a loss for words. He sets a hand on Fiyero's shoulder.

Fiyero looks to the ceiling. He isn't permitted the luxury to cry. He has to be strong. His grief is as private as a lion at the zoo, to be gawked at and cataloged, but not afforded space or mercy.

They enter the hall, and he watches Sarima's parents with an odd mix of sympathy and jealousy. At least her mother can wail for her loss.

Sarima.

What will he do without her? She's been his touchstone almost as long as he can remember. Run from her, to her or with her, she had always been the measure for him. Without her, he floats, lost.

But he can't be as uncharitable as to wish her back to life. Not with the pain that ghosted through her every movement. Not with the suffering he'd witnessed as he held her hand these years.

The officiator offers empty words of consolation. They wash over him, and he's never been more grateful to his father that at least he is permitted silence.

* * *

"It can't be her sister. The girl is too young." His parents' voices float to him through the wall, and he frowns.

"Not in a couple years. And if not her, the traditionalists will be up in arms."

"But if her, the Yunamata will certainly follow with threats. You remember what it took to approve Sarima, with their father who he is."

Slowly Fiyero realizes what they are discussing. He storms in, thunder in his eyes. "Really? She isn't even cold in the ground, and you're working out her replacement?"

They fall silent, and his mother reaches for him. He pulls away and glares at them both.

"We must," his father's voice is soft, but the weight is there. The weight of the crown. Of duty to country. Of the finality of death and the cruelty that life continues. "You know we must."

He slumps to a chair, suddenly too full of lead to move. "How can I?"

"Oh, my son." His mother comes to him, surrounds him, but he is numb. "I wish we could take the pain, but at least let us take the planning."

His eyes fall on his hands, and he wishes he had something to occupy him, too. "How soon?"

"Not now. We must find options, but you may have your time to mourn."

He snorts. As if there could be enough. As if forever would even let him begin.

"I know. It's unfair." She cards a hand through his hair, and memories of doing much the same for Sarima flood him until his cheeks feel wet. His tears, or his mother's? "But time dulls the ache, and when it's time, you'll find your heart can hold two loves. It has the room."

* * *

He stares into the rising sun, its brilliant colors heralding a new day.

Tomorrow he meets his new bride. His mother had been right. He finds the pain dull, his heart ready.

Still, sometimes he hears her voice in the wind, sees her smile in the poppies she so loved, feels her touch in the heat of the midday. What would she think of his moving on? Would she approve? Accept it as unavoidable? Would she hate him?

His duty demands he let her go, but he feels ready. Ready for the lingering grief to be replaced with a gentler nostalgia. She would always be the girl who helped him grow, but he has found a way without her still. He stands on his own, ready for a partner and not a crutch.

The smell of poppies in the wind brings a smile to his face, and he closes his eyes at the caress. Like a kiss from his first love giving him permission to make another.

Then he turns back, to responsibility and duty yes, but more to hope and the promise of a new day.

* * *

AN: For Bathtub Literature, who asked for a That Can Be Arranged POV companion, and my sweet little doggy, whose passing this morning is making me extremely empathetic to grief at the moment. I'm not quite ready to post the rest, but I hope you enjoy the prologue.


	2. Welcome

AN: Finally! I am finished with Rearranged! I will be posting every couple days with a new chapter, and of course the original is still up if you get impatient. I can't believe it's been 10 years since I wrote That Can Be Arranged. Wow, I feel so old. Hope you all enjoy, and please let me know what you think.

* * *

Fiyero smoothed his fingers to banish the fidgeting. The window drew his eyes again, but the drive waited, empty as ever. How soon until they arrived? He drew a measured breath. No, he wouldn't surrender to irrational fears. His bride would be fine. Not a shrew, nor a harlot, nor terrorized at the mere sight of him. Everything would be fine.

"Are you listening?"

"Yes, father." The response came automatically. "The Yunamata."

"They have pressed in on Sicama Ridge again."

If he knew nothing, the dour expression on his father's face alone would signal cause for concern. "But no overtures?" The lifted eyebrow revealed his mistake. "Which you said, in so many words," he rushed out. "Merely summarizing."

"You must take this seriously, son. This is your-"

"Responsibility, yes, I know." His chair scraped the floor as he stood. "I will-I do! Can't I have any slack, just for today?"

His father softened. "Your mother would say yes, but it wouldn't be fair to you. Your life will not be so easily divided."

Fiyero paced to the window. "I'm trying."

The hand on his shoulder made him twitch. "I know." For a moment, they watched the lone cloud travel the sky. Sometimes Fiyero wondered if he'd been born to the right future. Perhaps he was meant to be watching this cloud from below, brainlessly toiling in the sun without lectures of water rights and clan politics. That better suited his strengths.

His father squeezed his shoulder. "Try harder, son."

The words carried encouragement more than admonishment, but he felt a failure none-the-less. He turned from the sunlight and straightened his spine. "Yes, Father. And the Scrow?"

"Still past the pass."

His father waited.

Nothing Fiyero said now mattered. His father had decided the best course and set it in motion. But he felt its weight nonetheless. "If we wait, and they begin raiding…"

"So? You would do what?" His father prompted. "How will you dissuade them from raids without risking war?"

"Or insurrection." Fiyero swiped his hair from his forehead. "I would…provide a presence near the ridge. Not to engage, but to remind them of our claim."

A ghost of a smile. "And what would you expect to happen?"

He worried his lip. Come on, think. Were the Yunamata near the Ridge the ones that responded to strength or to deference? "For their leader to be offended? Or someone at least irritated."

The smile dissolved. "You have to anticipate reactions. Ripples in the pond can drown the duck sure as the rock."

Fiyero fought not to roll his eyes. It would only bring more lectures.

"Your plan would send men to Lower Fanarra and mean extra mouths to feed. They would claim it scared their sheep into an early grave and come with hands out for the royal treasury to fill their pockets. And, of course, the radicals."

"But I can't be expected to please the radicals, can I?" Fiyero shoved his hands in his pockets, and his father chuckled.

"I suppose not." He set a heavy hand on Fiyero's shoulder. "Still, no need to provide fodder for complaint."

Like a ray of sunlight breaking through the clouds, a steward arrived. "Pardon, your majesties, but your guests have arrived."

"Better go meet your bride, son."

Fiyero gave a weak smile. Halfway to the door, he realized his father hadn't moved. "You aren't coming?"

His father shuffled pages on his desk. "You'll be fine. You know what to do."

Did he? His father had more faith in him than he did. He followed the silent steward, trying hard to believe it faith and not apathy. Sometimes he felt like a chess piece maneuvered around the board without regard for his fate.

The steward opened the door before Fiyero could draw a steadying breath. There they stood, three strangers that would radically change his life.

His bride stood in the center, delicate features like a porcelain doll. So fragile, her missing arms might have shattered from a single careless touch. He pressed his hands flat lest he damage more. Oz, she was beautiful, if tragically so. She compelled a yearning to protect that reminded him so strongly of Sarima's last few weeks his eyes stung.

Beside her stood a distinguished man, salt and pepper hair, light wrinkles, and bright eyes. His future father-in-law, no doubt. A religious man, Brother Frexspar diffused forgiveness rather than the intensity which radiated from his own father. He returned the man's smile warmly.

Fiyero's eyes flicked to the remaining figure. Who was she?

She lifted her chin with a proud, fierce glare more befitting a warrior than a slip of a girl. The afternoon sun made her green skin glow, the very vision of an avenging deity. Some type of bodyguard perhaps? He hadn't thought Munchkinland so progressive.

Her eyes met his, and she scowled. Huh. He usually charmed women.

The steward continued listing his superlatives, all while this stranger stared at him, wordlessly calling them false, and Fiyero could take it no longer. He cleared his throat. "Welcome, honored guests."

How could he honor them? The beautiful girl he would marry stood there, in front of him, and he had no idea how to greet her. None. What an insult to all the chivalry Sarima had toiled into him.

"May I present my daughters, Elphaba Thropp…" The mysterious warrior was her sister? They were so different. "And Nessarose, your intended."

He settled for a kiss on her cheek. "I hope I am not too forward," he apologized, but her kind father waved a hand. Her blush lent pretty rose highlights to her cheeks, with no hint of offense. Thank Oz.

"Shall I show you to your quarters?"

The sister guard glared at him. Why?

"I'm sure after such a long journey, it would be a relief to relax." Her eyebrow lifted, and he swallowed. He didn't mean they weren't welcome. "The King and Queen are eager to meet you, but your comfort is of our first concern."

Her father stepped in with a polite direction for the girls to rest, and Fiyero sagged with relief at the freedom from these unsettling girls, both the fierce and the fragile.

"If you would follow me, sir." He led him into his father's sitting room. "My father's council should be ending now, and I'll send for my mother to join you."

Frexspar strode to the sofa in the center of the room. "There's no need to bother her. I imagine it's your father I ought to speak with."

Fiyero's brow furrowed. "It's no bother, sir. She would welcome the chance to greet you as our guest."

"Of course."

Should he offer wine? As an ordained minister, did Brother Frexspar partake in spirits? He might be offended at the offer. "Refreshments?"

The man politely refused, but before Fiyero could send for his parents, his father entered from the adjoining door.

"You must be Brother Frexspar. You honor us with your presence." He strode across the room to clasp the man's hand. "Particularly after such a journey. My son has not sent for refreshments?"

The words were mild, but an indictment all the same.

"He kindly offered already, thank you."

"I insist," the king sat, and Frexspar took the seat opposite. "After such a long journey, I would be a poor host indeed to leave you without."

Fiyero slipped to the door. "I'll see to it at once, and then send for Mother."

"Nonsense. Sit. This concerns you as well, of course." His father summoned a couple stewards and set them to their tasks. He turned to Frexspar. "I trust your daughters enjoyed their trip. Is it their first visit to our country?"

"No, though we've not been since their youth. I doubt they would recall." The steward arrived, with low bows and cool drinks all around. Fiyero set to the refresco, preparing its strong flavor. Brother Frexspar tilted his head. "Did your men forget something?"

Fiyero garnished the fruit and set the drinks before them. "Oh, no, the queen will arrive in her own time." He shared a smile with his father at that. His mother could not be rushed even by Kumbricia herself.

"I see. Then let us set to the task of the contract."

His father's frown drew lines over his forehead. "Brother Frexspar, you needn't make haste. We will not evaporate in the times it takes for pleasantries. Surely business might wait."

Fiyero's eyebrows lifted. At a guest's welcome? His father must deeply disapprove for such outward reproach.

The soft click of the door echoed in the cool silence. His mother breezed in, flooding the room with her presence. "You've made it at last! You honor us." She strode to the settee. "Come, let us embrace as the family we're soon to be." She enveloped him in a hug that sent the poor man's eyebrows shooting toward his hairline. "And the young lady?"

"Resting," Fiyero supplied.

"And dressing for dinner, no doubt. Imagine, the poor girl having to meet her fiancé straight from the road." She took Fiyero's hand. "You complimented her well, did you not?"

His flush made answer enough, and she clucked at him. "I kissed her," he confessed in a fluster, much to his father's dismay and his mother's mirth.

"Oh, dearest. Whatever shall we do with you?" She settled on the chair with a rustle of skirts. "Despite what you men might think, a kiss is not a sufficient compliment."

The coy look shot between his parents made him distinctly uncomfortable, and his father's sly smile only worsened it. "It conveys the same message, does it not?"

Thankfully, Brother Frexspar cleared his throat. At last, they settled into the terms of the agreement. Fiyero ought to find these of upmost interest, particularly as they concerned intimate details of his future, but the strain of the day left him mentally exhausted. The words crashed over him in waves, a soothing sea to lull him to his waking dreams. "Economic stability…corn imports…silk tariffs…"

The lone cloud had long vanished, but a hawk glided on the wind. Did it go toward the Pass? He envisioned it a scout, reporting secrets that gave Fiyero a dizzying and impressive advantage.

"Are you ready?"

He blinked. "Yes, of course." He stood, aware now the others were halfway out the door. Before he could censor himself, he asked, "Father?"

The man turned and waited.

"What did you do?" At his look, he added, "With the Yunamata."

His father's face softened. "As you suggested, in large part."

"And the small?" How did he avoid the minefields? Fiyero tried and tried to reason it out and never found any path to peace.

"A gift. Better to be the first hand extended in friendship."

"But isn't that still a drain on the treasury?"

"A third as much, and with limits for the future, if given for preparations. Any further loss would be the fault of those who squandered it. But we give proof the crown will provide."

Fiyero shook his head in awe of his father. "So we look generous and strong, and our enemies weak and conniving."

"We _are_ generous," his father corrected, "because our people deserve the care."

"Yes, Father."

He trailed behind, lost in his thoughts. How had his father found that solution? It pleased all, somehow. Fiyero would never be able to rule like that. Footsteps drew his arm up automatically, ever the diligent prince.

Nessarose smiled at him, but made no other move.

It took him a moment to realize the problem. How could she take his arm with no hands? A hot flush painted him, but his brain failed him. He redirected to her sister, who glared as if he'd offered her a viper.

"Ladies?" His voice came out calm at least. She looked at him expectantly, all big eyes and vulnerability. "Shall we?"

Her sister barreled through, hauling Nessarose toward the table such that Fiyero could either follow, or be left behind. Relief and frustration mixed in equal parts as he hustled to catch up.

He pulled out her chair, and her sister helped her sit. A step toward the other girl's chair, and she'd plopped herself into the seat. Did she not know the custom, or was this a message for his benefit? He took the smug tilt of her chin as answer.

"I trust your journey was pleasant?" He unleashed his most charming smile, an unparalleled tool for sweets, kisses and forgiveness.

Nessarose beamed, rosy hued cheeks earning her name, and nodded. She eyed her sister expectantly.

"Long," Elphaba said, the very word extracted with great pain.

"But uneventful," Frexspar rescued him again and bowed his head, "Which is all we can ask for, bless the Unnamed God."

Nessa matched his reverent posture.

Fiyero tried again, "Do you like duck?"

He crafted a skillful conversation with praise and genuine interest, but try as he might, he could not draw a smile out of her sister.

"How do you find the soup?" he asked, and then the absurdity of his statement hit him. How did he continually forget her most obvious disability?

She nodded pleasantly and took another bite off the spoon offered by her sister. Oh. He schooled his face to smoothness. How practiced they were. Elphaba barely even looked, alternating with utter confidence.

He fought not to stare. Why not use a steward? They must know one would oblige so they might both eat.

But, yes, he did understand. She cared for her sister, truly _cared_. He'd known that feeling well before - where care is not a burden or obligation but a reflex of love. A sudden worry stabbed through him. Would he be expected to fill those shoes? Of course. He wanted to, but Oz, she had no arms. How would he know what to do?

And the sister, herself, made quite a mystery to him.

Elphaba's shawl slipped down her arm, the delicate silk more out of place than a live boa constrictor. But the selflessness and gentleness with which she cared for Nessarose… he couldn't relate the two.

Elphaba caught his stare, and he snapped back to his bride before the ice there burned him. "The secret to the spice is saffron."

Nessarose's eyes brightened, and he took her smile as encouragement to go on.

"We have a garden on the grounds. I could show you if you like."

"I'd like that." Her eyes ducked away.

"The flower grows purple, but the spice is red. It takes hundreds of flowers to make a single tablespoon." Why was he talking this much about a spice? Oz, he was probably boring her to tears.

Her eyelashes fluttered lightly. "You know so much."

His father's voice drew his attention. "I'm sure your journey must have worn on you all, though the children might enjoy the rest of the evening. Ah, to be young." His mother beamed benevolently, and Fiyero knew the next words before they were spoken. He nearly parroted them along. "Son, I think our guests could use a tour of the castle."

"Of course."

His father invited Brother Frexspar for a brandy, and the man's expression made Fiyero suppress a smirk. He'd been right about the offense.

He turned to his future bride. If he couldn't offer an arm, what could he do?

Impatient, Elphaba stood. "Let's see this castle."

He laughed despite himself. "Right then. Shall we?"


	3. Shadows

"The North Parlour," Fiyero breezed. He'd given this tour endless times. As usual, he adjusted the highlights to his guests' reactions. The opulent public rooms offered no shortage from which to choose. Nessarose's eyes floated over the lunette bay windows to the plant-life beyond. Flora over architecture, then. Noted.

He led them through the portico and into the courtyard. "Queen Sawahir's Garden."

His intended pulled right to the giant lily. Her eyes closed to savor the scent. "And to think that all this grows in a desert." A look of horror crossed her face. "I mean…"

"I agree." His hand reached for her shoulder before he thought better of it. "It is quite remarkable, more so for the climate it grows in." His eyes flicked to Elphaba. "I am certain your country is equally remarkable, if not more so, though I am relieved we do not disappoint."

"Have you been?" Nessarose asked.

"I'm afraid not." He leaned closer with a flattering grin. "Had I known such beautiful girls were there, I would certainly have arranged to visit sooner." The blush returned to her cheeks, and she sent him a shy smile.

"You spend much time chasing women, then?"

Elphaba's snark drew a laugh from him, until her frown registered. Oz, how had she reached that from a simple compliment? Perhaps not the most original, it still hardly insinuated a philandering nature. Did she really oppose him making her sister feel pretty?

"I see you think highly of me already." He smiled gently. "Not to fear. My intentions are thoroughly honorable."

She met his eyes, unappeased. "That's an indirect answer."

Stubborn girl. He'd have his work cut out with her. He locked eyes with her and refused to blink. "My apologies. No, Miss Elphaba, I do not."

There was no way for her to know, but Sarima had more than cured him off that. He led the conversation to questions of their home, fending off a sudden melancholy. Nessarose came to life as she described the crops and colors and countryside. He grinned at her. What could he ask her to draw that reaction again?

"And through there?" she asked, innocent of the portent behind those ornate doors.

Memories of a wedding that would never be and of the room shrouded in black flooded his thought. "That's the, um, throne room. Where we're to be…" He swallowed the words before his voice could betray him.

A chill emanated from there, and he spun away without further comment.

By the time they reached the salon, he'd swallowed down the lump in his throat. "Here we are." He felt lighter with each step through the doors, and the tightness in his chest eased. "The ballroom is through there, but I much prefer the salon. Fewer people to collide with." He winked, but her sudden blush drew his attention.

"Do you dance then?" The mild words edged in anxiety.

Ah. He saw the problem. She must not believe herself able to dance without arms. He ran it over in his mind, the mechanics. Yes. That, he felt confident he could do. The rest…Oz, he'd try to figure it out. But dancing, with a bit of practice, he felt confident he could provide for her.

His grin stretched across his face. "Quite often, I'm afraid. It's a requirement, given my duties, although…" he leaned in to stage-whisper, "I probably enjoy it far more than I should."

"Moderation is essential in all aspects of our lives." She bowed her head, and he found his eyes drawn to her sister in confusion.

He blamed the aggravation in Elphaba's eyes for his irresistible urge to tease Nessarose. In good fun, of course. "Isn't that application immoderate in its own nature? Or is it meant to be applied in moderation, also?"

Elphaba smiled, and Oz, what a smile it was, all the sweeter by its rarity. "Extreme moderation, of course," the girl joined with a laugh. "What other kind is there?"

Her joy stolen to make her sister's heavenly smile, Nessarose dissolved into a miserable expression. A wounded puppy might have looked so betrayed.

"Oh, Nessa, you needn't take it so personal. He's teasing."

He rushed out, "Sorry. I meant no offense." But Elphaba grinned over her sister's head and spoiled his apology. "You're getting me in trouble," he accused, and to his surprised amusement, she responded with a tongue stuck out at him like a 5-year-old.

He collapsed into laughter. Oz, what a change from dinner.

"What challenge can I have to that?" He drew a ragged breath, half-laughed out again, and shook his head. "You have bested me again Miss Elphaba."

The smile dripped from her face. "What do you mean?"

His stomach dropped. Had he offended them again? And so soon? "Dinner." He swallowed at her expression. "Our awkward arrival, all my fault I must confess."

Her gaze threatened certain death, and he cleared his throat. A minefield. These two were a minefield teasing riches he'd never reach. He promised, "I will move quicker to seat you in the future, though, so you needn't take matters in your own hands. Never let it be said that I'm an incompetent host."

Her expression didn't waver despite his apology, but Nessa warmed to him at least. "Oh, you'll have to forgive Elphaba. She's determinedly self-sufficient. To the point of stubbornness." That much was clear. "The only help she believes in is herself. And her books, I suppose."

He seized on the topic of her interests, but after his third failed attempt at conversation, he left her to her silence. "This is my Great, Great Uncle Boutrin." He indicated the bust on the left. "Not the best statesman, but quite the attractive plaster head."

Nessarose giggled, and his focus ought to remain on her, his bride. Try though he might, he couldn't escape the icy stare and wrinkled nose of her sister.

"The cook's quarters are through this corridor. I strongly recommend against going in there if you enjoy eating food that hasn't been set aflame with the hottest spices."

She tittered such that she teetered, and Elphaba had to right her. Still not so much as a smile. Surely he could find something to suit her sister's interests. He tried historical facts, hysterical facts, and everything in between. Nothing. The balcony was his last hope. No one could resist the view from there, nestled against the gargoyles and smooth stone.

Nessa gasped at the darkness, broken only by the bright moon and glittering stars. "Is it really so late?"

He expected a sharp word from her sister, blaming him for the hour or such, but she stood breathless in the doorway. He congratulated himself at having melted her annoyance with him at last. Then she shivered.

"I should have mentioned," he shook his head, frustrated at his brainlessness. What did they know about the desert? "The climate is quite fickle with its heat. Burning days make for freezing nights." He set a jacket on his bride's shoulders.

Nessa drifted away in exploration, and Fiyero turned to her sister. "If you'd like, I can get one for you, too…" He should have anticipated this, had one at hand.

She waved him off. Her eyes never left the moon. She leaned into the stone as if she would fly without it, up and into the sky without a worry or care in the world. The shadows wrapped around her, and he found his arms aching to do likewise. To keep her warm, of course, and not to see if she felt as ethereal as she seemed. "It's so…"

"I know." Her fascination drew him in, all that passion and fire in her eyes sparking brighter than any light. He found himself leaning into the stone beside her. Her awe burned away the familiarity so he could see the breathtaking view anew.

For a moment, they allowed the night to swallow them and their words, but then a gust of wind made it past the turrets. She shivered and leaned into his side, and his arm wrapped around her without his intention to move it. Well, all the better. She must be freezing.

"You shouldn't lean on the stone so late," he told her, and himself since apparently he needed the reminder. "It only keeps the warmth of the sun for an hour or so." Fickle with its heat as she was with that smile.

She nodded, but stayed there, eyes fixed on the heavens. The wind tossed stray tendrils of her hair around her, wild and careless. She leaned into him, and those wild hairs tickled lightly over his face and neck. His voice came out rough, as if he hadn't used it in ages, "Cold?"

Her breath floated out in a soft sigh.

"Do you want that jacket now?"

She shook her head, and he let out a breath he hadn't meant to hold. Good. He'd made her comfortable without it. Perhaps he wasn't as impossible around her after all.

Still.

His thumb traced the edge of her silken shawl and the equally soft skin beneath. He hadn't expected her to feel so soft. He shook his head. Of course she was soft. Did he think her skin would be made of the same steel as her gaze? "That shawl is pretty, but not too practical. It can't be keeping you warm." He moved behind her, both palms sliding over the smooth surface. "I'd be a terrible host if I let you freeze to death."

She tossed a smile over her shoulder at him, and his breath caught again at the sight. "I doubt I'll freeze from a little night air."

"You'd be surprised," he managed to say. He really should get her a jacket. The cool air had reached through to him as well, and he fought a sudden shiver. She leaned back against his chest, and his eyes fluttered closed. Jasmine and eucalyptus flooded the air as the wind caressed her. "Any warmer?"

Her sigh vibrated against his chest, and he narrowly resisted the urge to bury his face in her hair, braid or not.

"Good. I'm glad I'm finally of some use to you, then."

He tensed, half-expecting her to be offended again, but she chuckled low in her throat. Her head tipped back to rest on his shoulder, her eyes on the wisps of cloud stretched into shades of purple and black in the night.

"It's so…Oz, you live here?" The darkness cocooned them in a blanket of stillness and starlight, dappled by the shadows they cast. He ghosted a hand over her arm, and she shivered again.

"I do." He certainly hadn't felt as lucky about that particular development as he did at this moment. Pride in his homeland and a tinge of guilt at his complacency mixed within as the stars winked their forgiveness.

Nessa yawned, and Elphaba went to her at once. "Tired?"

He crossed his arms against the chill she'd left, and crossed back to the door. "Sorry to keep you so late. Perhaps we can continue tomorrow?"

"Please," Nessa beamed, her beautiful brown eyes wide despite her fatigue. "With such a large castle, I'm certain I won't remember how to find anything."

He sent a reassuring smile. "Not to worry." He tweaked her nose playfully, a schoolboy flirting rather than a half-grown man courting his bride. "We won't let you get lost."

He would have taken her hand, and she'd no doubt have clung to his arm had she had hands or arms to do so. As such, they settled for an amicable walk back to her room.

"Ladies." He dipped in an ostentatious bow to draw another giggle from his intended. 'Thank you for the pleasure of your company. Until tomorrow."

Lighthearted and willfully brainless, he kissed Elphaba's hand with a flourish before she could scowl her way out of it. Then he flashed his most roguish smile at Nessa and slipped off, lighthearted enough to believe he'd won the girls over.

And if he hadn't, he'd simply have to hire the moon and capture all the stars.

Hope and relief were much more welcome bedmates to those that he'd awoken with, and he'd be damned if he'd send them away.

* * *

AN: A shorter chapter, I know, but trust me, they are about to get longer! Thank you for reading, and please let me know what you think.


	4. Faults

"Well?" Fiyero's mother tilted her head. "The girls. What do you think?"

He drummed his fingers on his knee. How could he explain them when he barely understood them? He gave a half-shrug.

"Oh, now, dearest. You spent hours with them, surely you have impressions to share."

"They are…nice." And magnetic, and caustic, and brilliant, and hilarious, and confusing, and constantly exasperated with him. His father could relate to that last one.

Sure enough, his father pinched the bridge of his nose. "Oz, Fiyero."

He fought the urge to justify himself. What would it accomplish? He steepled his fingers. "Did Brother Frexspar agree to all the stipulations?"

His mother and father shared a look. "You'll be entertaining the girls again today, if that's alright."

"Of course," he answered, though his forehead wrinkled at the deflection. "Is something the matter?"

His father rubbed his eyes, and his mother stroked the hand she held. "The contract is fine. We'll review it together if you wish."

"But?"

"You aren't marrying her father. He'll be gone soon enough." His father brushed his mother's hand, and she stilled. "It's Nessarose that will be staying, and her that should be your focus."

"Yes, Father." Interesting. His father didn't like Brother Frexspar. Why ever not?

"Perhaps you should use breakfast as an opportunity."

Phrased for suggestion, Fiyero recognized the command. "I'll fetch them."

His mother patted his cheek. "My sweet boy. What a lovely gesture, but don't dawdle. I believe the stewards are already on their way."

Those stewards could be inconveniently efficient, silent as shadows and fast as lightning. Many a time had their speed ruined his plots or escapes. He turned a corner, and slammed right into those he sought. Nessa toppled over like a bowling pin, her pretty face taking the brunt of the impact. He threw up a hand to catch her, but Elphaba beat him to it. "You idiot! Watch where you're going!"

He dashed to her side and helped lift Nessa. She claimed to be fine, but her face was so red. He cursed himself over and over.

"Are you certain you're alright?" He brushed her hair behind her ear, tilting her face from left to right. Her cheeks and nose both seemed unbruised.

"I'm fine." She pulled back carefully. "The Unnamed God commands our forgiveness for all offenses."

He leaned back. Did that mean she forgave him, or felt obligated to? Oz knows he deserved her anger. Why could he not get things right with them? He'd hosted dozens of dignitaries, even where none spoke the language, but two sweet girls were beyond him?

"What in Oz were you doing, anyway, whirling around corners and knocking people over?" Elphaba scowled.

Perhaps he should have captured the moon in his back pocket after all. They managed to reach the table safely, with only a one-sided quarrel and a sharp rebuke from her father to ruin the mood. So, basically, a disaster. He pulled out both chairs, but Elphaba still refused to let him seat her. He blinked down at her in his chair stupidly before he realized he could sit in hers.

The corner of her lips tipped up, victorious.

He ought not goad her, given her mood, but she persisted in picking fight after fight. He could only be gracious for so long. "Are you not hungry?" he asked Nessa with a breezy smile. "I see you lack your sister's enthusiasm for our cuisine."

She studied her lap, and Elphaba's head snapped up. "Oh, Nessa, I'm so sorry."

He frowned. For what? Liking their cuisine?

A scoop of porridge promptly delivered to Nessa dispelled the mystery. He wondered again why not use the stewards. Lost in his thoughts, it took a moment to register Nessa had asked him a question.

"Oh, a bryla. Very tangy, but with a sweet aftertaste. Would you like to try it?"

Nessa fluttered yes in eyelash code and a smile. He held it out for her. Elphaba reached for it, and he dodged out of her way. She might refuse his hosting, but she could deal with Nessa's acceptance.

Nessa tipped forward for a dainty bite. Elphaba knocked his hand out of the way as if he'd hit the girl and set to work, an overeager Ama wiping her charge's face clean. Then she glared at him like the bringer of all torment.

Well, she was entitled to her mood. He turned to Nessa. "What do you think?"

"It's delicious."

He held it out again. "More?"

Elphaba snatched it away and stabbed the poor fruit into little bits half-chocked at her wide-eyed sister.

"Try some, Fabala. It's wonderful."

He smiled at her response to the nickname should he use it. Why he found her so pleasant to annoy, he couldn't say. Perhaps her spectacular reactions, or her endless frustration with him? Regardless, he couldn't resist a teasing, "Shall I feed you, too?"

Elphaba's eyes flashed as she hissed, "Are you cruel or daft?"

Her eyes cut to Nessa, who studied her plate. Oh. He hadn't thought how she might take that.

"What is it now, girl?" their father barked. "Are you so thoroughly incapable of polite conversation?"

Fiyero's shame doubled as Brother Frexspar redressed Elphaba. He rushed out, "She's not at fault." His father's gaze landed heavily, but he persevered. "I'm afraid I offended her, for which I am deeply apologetic." Even if he didn't feel bad, the reactions of everyone at the table, his father's judgment to his intended's embarrassment, would be more than enough to calculate some genuine remorse. "It was thoughtless, but unintentional, I assure you."

"Then perhaps you should spend as much time on your thoughts as you do on your apologies."

He met her eyes though longed to hang his head. "Of course, Miss Elphaba." He held out the bryla, a peace offering.

Elphaba snatched it for an insolent bite. Her eyes fluttered, but she maintained an aloof demeanor as she told Nessa, "Not bad, my pretty."

Nessa bent in unexpected prayer, and Elphaba busied herself in caring for the girl. But he saw Elphaba sneak a bite of the bryla and couldn't suppress his smile. A spray of its juice dripped down her chin, and a very unwelcome image of how he might taste it sprang to mind. He pressed his lips together hard as she ate another sensuous bite.

He cleared his throat. "Shall we continue our tour, or would you ladies prefer an alternate engagement?"

"Whatever you prefer, good sir."

Nessa's submission strummed an irritation he couldn't place and hadn't the right to regardless after his poor treatment.

Her father's whispered, "The faults of the eldest are not in bearing on lovely Nessarose," drew matching frowns from both Fiyero and his parents.

Hadn't Fiyero already admitted fault? And anyway, she was the man's daughter. Oughtn't he defend her to these near-strangers? It felt like a cheap shot that resonated somewhere in Fiyero's gut.

"I trust you understand why I recommended her for this cherished union."

He nearly spoke up, propriety be damned. But Elphaba beat him to it. "I think we exhausted the tour last night."

"Though I'm certain you have many more enchanting rooms in so grand a castle. It's so large and splendid."

He pressed his lips into what he hoped passed for a smile at Nessa's useless flattery. "But if Miss Elphaba would prefer an alternate activity-"

"Elphaba can entertain herself, surely," Frexspar cut in. "I'm certain Nessarose would enjoy some time with her suitor in privacy."

That sent red to both their cheeks.

Oz, didn't the man know his own daughters? He'd spent a few hours with them, and he knew enough that Elphaba would never willingly leave her sister's side. And that Nessa would not feel comfortable alone with him, a strange man betrothed or not. Lurline, and that he would have no way to care for her. His stomach clenched at the thought.

Elphaba snapped back at her father saying as much, and the parents set at once to dismissing her very valid fears.

"I beg pardon," he imbued as much formality as he could to his words, "but if it is pleasing to Miss Nessarose, I have no argument with her charming sister joining us." Elphaba snorted at that, ruining his characterization of her, but he focused on his father. "We should make poor hosts indeed to entertain one at the expense of the other, particularly so soon after their arrival. If you are amenable…" He turned to Nessa, who practically wilted in relief.

"How kind of you! Yes, of course."

"Poppycock," snapped Frexspar. "You're to be married."

Fiyero frowned. Why did the man insist on making this difficult? Everyone preferred it this way.

"But as yet, they are not." His father stood, and Fiyero nearly leapt at the signal of dismissal. "It will be of little harm for them to have a chaperone, and my son is quite right in his estimation of our duties as hosts."

The approval made him feel giddy. "Shall we then?" He raced to get them out of there before Frexspar irritated him, or Elphaba, into an ugly incident.

That damned bryla juice stained the corner of her lips and reminded him how wantonly she'd devoured the fruit. Nothing about her made sense. He swiped a thumb at it to remove the image from his mind.

She dodged away with an accusing, "What are you doing?"

He swiped the temptation away, "there," and tucked his thumb in his mouth, tasting the sticky sweetness.

"I'll thank you to keep your hands to yourself," she breathed with much less fire than he expected.

"And what? Have you lick it off?" He'd had quite enough of that at breakfast. She hadn't any idea how seductive it was, did she? And he was hardly the right one to explain it. Still, her pouty lips drew from him, "You would tempt a man to exhaustion."

"How rude!" she accused, and he shrugged.

"But accurate, I believe."

"Might we explore the grounds?" said Nessa, and he spun to her.

He eyed her delicate skin. "Perhaps we'd better wait until evening. It's still quite warm, even this early in the day." What to do, what to do? "How are you ladies with getting dirty?"

Nessa agreed without reservation, ever the accommodating companion, and Elphaba disagreed without reservation, ever the unimpressed critic. So of course, Nessa won. Elphaba's nose wrinkled, and she yanked him aside. "Pottery? How do you expect her to do that, you idiot?"

His face fell.

He _was_ an idiot, but Oz, what could you do with no arms?

"You are utterly hopeless," she ranted at him in whispers. "How am I supposed to help a lummox like you learn to take care of my sister?"

She stalked ahead, and he wallowed in the misery that she was right until her words dawned on him. He caught her arm. "What do you mean? You'll help me?"

"Not much choice." She shook him off. "Somebody has to."

A wave of relief rolled through him. She would help him. He wouldn't have to stumble through this alone.

"Thank you. Truly."

His gratitude melted her frozen posture, but she lifted a stern finger. "Don't say anything to Nessa. You'll embarrass her."

"You believe me so brainless?" His broad grin did little to convince the contrary. His step fell lighter, floating buoyantly in a bubble of hope.

"I do. For such a charming prince, you're the epitome of clueless."

He leaned closer with a grin. "You think I'm charming?"

"Ugh." She thundered through the door, and he handed her a lump of clay with a wink.

Then he spun to Nessa. "Dear Nessarose, would you work with me?" Her eyes darted down, and she pressed her lips together. "I'm a fair painter, with direction, but a total disgrace in imagination. What shall I paint for you? Don't be shy now. I think you'll find I take instruction well."

He tossed a look to Elphaba, and she rolled her eyes.

"Are you certain?"

He plopped into the seat across from Nessa. "Very. Please take pity on me."

She tucked her chin with a sweet smile. "Alright then."

"Good. What color first?"

She studied the paints beyond him with an appraising eye. "Blue."

Squeezed it out on the palette, it made a tiny ocean. He flashed a flirtatious grin. "Your favorite?"

"One of," she admitted.

"That's a comfort," he said, and she sent him a questioning smile. "Oh, you'll find out soon enough." He winked. What would she think when she saw those blue diamonds hidden under his shirt?

"I was thinking a geometric pattern."

"Clever. Less for me to ruin." He pursed her lips. "I see I must earn any trust."

Her eyes widened. "I didn't mean-"

He tapped the tip of brush handle on the end of her nose. "Relax, a jest. You mustn't think me easy to offend." He held up the vase, and she nodded.

"Oh, I know that. Red now." He obliged. "You manage my sister well enough."

His laugh distorted the circle he'd been drawing. "Do I?"

"And if she can't annoy you, you must be the most agreeable man on the planet."

Something about the way she'd called him a man made him feel stronger, more mature, even if he felt like half a child most days. "She's not so disagreeable. Merely protective of you."

"Yes, well." She made a face. "What about yellow next?" He set to work and waited for her to continue. For a moment, neither spoke. "Are you an only child?"

"I am."

"Then you've never had a big sister." He shook his head. "Sometimes, I wish…"

He dotted the vase, and then held up the green with a lifted brow. She nodded. "Go on. I won't betray your secrets, nor judge you for them."

She bit her lip. "I just, I feel uncharitable to say it aloud. She's done so much for me, given so much for me, but sometimes I wish she wouldn't. She protects me so much, I never get to actually live my life. I'm too busy being protected from it."

He moved the brush without comment.

"See, I'm unkind."

"Hardly," he said. "As far as I've known you, you've been nothing but considerate."

She tilted her head, but her eyes gave away her searching. "You don't think I'm unfair to be frustrated with her?"

"Perhaps, but frustrations don't disappear just because they're unfair. I find myself consumed with innumerable frustrations that are unfair, and often of my own creation. You've done nothing to earn yours. Purple?"

"No, more yellow." She studied him for a moment, perhaps afraid she had said too much.

"Better?" He drew a line, and her eyes widened at the eyesore. He flashed a grin at her. "A fault of my hand, not my inspiration."

She pursed her lips at him, and he grinned. She giggled in response, and he drew another squiggly line.

"Fiyero!"

"What? Didn't I draw it right?"

"You're impossible."

"Impossibly attractive?" She fluttered her eyes at him, and he leaned closer to whisper, "You'd look lovely in yellow."

Her eyebrow arched in resemblance to her sister. "Oh?" He brandished the paintbrush, and she stepped back, eyes wide. "You wouldn't dare."

He waggled his eyebrows at her, and her jaw dropped. But before she could sound the alarm, he ran the brush down his own nose. She burst out with a laugh. "What?"

"I can't believe you did that!"

"Did what? I just painted it yellow, like you said. You never specified where." He clucked his tongue at her. "Perfection lies in the details, my dear."

"I certainly didn't mean your nose!"

She laughed again, and he shook his finger. "But you didn't say. I did exactly as instructed." Her laughter doubled her over, and she nearly toppled onto the vase were it not for his quick reflexes. "Oh, see, now you've gotten yourself painted as well. Whatever shall I do with you?"

"Have I really?" She craned her head to see her shawl, and he winced. A bright yellow handprint stood out against the pretty fabric.

Elphaba appeared as if conjured to bear witness of his every mistake. "I see you lost no time in causing more trouble."

Nessa jumped at the sound and tumbled toward him, and Elphaba took a turn catching her. He nodded smugly to the handprints she'd left. "Is this my fault also?"

"Give me a moment to think, and I can justify it."

He barked a laugh. "Naturally." Remarkable, the pair of them. He nodded toward her abandoned project. "Finished?"

"I concede defeat," she sighed. The poor lump might be a pony? Or a whale?

He sent her a gentle smile, but Nessa's shoulders ticked back. "How unlike you, Elphaba. Father will be pleased with this progress against your particular vice." The diatribe drew up his eyebrows. Where was the gentle girl worrying if she was unkind? She bowed her head. "My dear sister has struggled greatly with the sins of stubbornness and pride."

The words held half a prayer. Was she so devout? Yes, of course she must be, the daughter of a clergyman. The girls bickered over matters clearly below the surface of the words, in waters he'd rather not swim. "Shall I fire it for you?"

They stared at him as if he'd just appeared from thin air. "No, no need."

The disagreement lingered, and he felt their best comfort could be found in privacy. He led them back toward their rooms.

"I'll send for a solvent for the paint," he said, an apology in his eyes. "When would you like to discuss the…book…we talked about earlier?" He willed her to understand his meaning.

She stared at him. Then with a sigh, she sent Nessa in. "I should find it reassuring that my sister's fiancé is so incapable of deceit, though it is not particularly helpful at the moment."

He flashed a grin. "Shall we address my lack espionage as well then?" Oz, anything so long as she helped him. He felt that gnawing pit in his stomach relax at the thought.

"Wouldn't hurt."

She hadn't confirmed. What if he'd angered her? He didn't understand her half the time. Perhaps she'd changed her mind. "But you will still help me, yes?"

"Yes."

A thousand weights lifted from him, and he longed to throw his arms. He settled for her hand. "A rare and pleasing word from your lips, Miss Elphaba."

She blushed and pulled her hand back with a scowl. "I suppose we should meet soon. Just this morning you've managed to paint her, cover her in sticky juice, and send her headfirst into a wall."

"I am nothing if not fully committed."

"Quit joking." She shoved his shoulder, hard. "This isn't a game. You're going to be responsible for her."

He sobered. "I know." Oz did he. Unimpressed, she chastised him again, listing all the care he'd have to provide, and the enormity of it overwhelmed him. An endless litany of tasks, "bathe her, dress her, brush her hair…" he realized how impossible it would be.

His cheeks burned. "I don't suppose we'll have much occasion to practice those before the wedding."

"This is a waste of time," she snapped. "I should have had Nanny come. You'd listen to her."

He caught her hands. "Elphaba, I am listening. You can trust me. I'll do what you say. Whatever you think of me, I'm not heartless. I want to do right by her. By all of you."

"Then you shouldn't be taking my sister." She spun away from him, eyes shining with unshed tears, and her anger suddenly made sense.

His hands found her shoulders. "I'm sorry. Truly." Her distress moved him. His arms itched to embrace her, convince her that she wouldn't be tossed aside, that her sister's heart would find room for them both. But their relationship was too new, too fragile. He'd have to show her, and let time prove his sincerity.

She regained her composure. "Regardless, we have work to do. Let me settle Nessa with Frexspar, and we'll find somewhere to start."

She mentioned prayers, and he couldn't help but ask. Was Nessa always like that? So devout, but also…judgmental? Not that he hadn't withstood such before, but she would be his wife. He'd hoped to have a partner that cared for him, faults at all. Oz knows he had plenty.

Elphaba shrugged it off, a poor sign, and by the time she was ready, he had everything prepared.

He guided them to the upstairs library. Hardly used now, it abounded in books and privacy. The literary riches of the West lay in that room, stacked high and cluttering the desks. He waited for her gasp of surprise and the bright-eyed smile that would follow.

Instead she snatched his ear in a grip far too strong for such a thin girl. "Don't think for one second you're going to charm me. I'm not some idiot girl swooning over you, and I'm not likely to be." She stabbed a finger into his chest. "Shouldn't you be spending more time getting in my sister's good graces? As if you could even begin to deserve her."

Her vitriol shocked him. How could she think he'd had ill intentions? "I just thought…"

"Not likely," she sneered, and his face drew into a frown.

"What did I-" He forced himself to draw a deep breath. It wouldn't do to explode at her. Clearly this had nothing to do with him, not really. "Miss Elphaba, I mean no offense. I simply wanted to do something kind for you. I am not trying to charm you, or deceive you, or harm you in any way. Are you that unaccustomed to goodwill?"

Perhaps that last bit had been more than he ought to have said, but he couldn't help it. He wasn't made of stone. She fell silent, and for a heartbreaking moment, he thought perhaps she _was_ that unaccustomed to it. She certainly hadn't experienced any he'd seen in the brief stay thus far. What a difficult trip this must be.

"I have no agenda other than to cultivate a friendship with you."

"Too bad. We aren't friends. We aren't going to be friends. I'm only helping you for Nessa's sake."

He pressed his lips together. Fine. "Well, I am grateful regardless."

"You should be."

"I am." And because he'd rather not be yelled at, he adopted a charming tone. "Not just for the help. Other than your fixation on me as an enemy, I quite enjoy spending time with you. You're very funny, you know."

"Funny?" Her eyes narrowed, and he caught his mistake. But Oz, why did she insist on putting him through the ringer?

"I suppose you'd prefer witty? Is it so terrible that I appreciate someone soon to be family? That I try to return that pleasantry?"

"Not _that_ terrible, I suppose."

Her anger drained from her, and he knew he should quit while he was ahead, but pure stubbornness led him to add, "So, will you at least concede that someday, in the far-off future, we might become friends?"

"No promises."

He grinned. He'd won her over, and if he could weather this squall without warning or compass to guide him, he'd outlast any sprinkles of disagreement that might come after.

* * *

AN: Oh, poor naïve Fiyero. If he only knew…. On a practical note, how do you find this chapter's length? Thank you for reading, and please let me know what you think.


	5. Lessons

Fiyero had never felt so brainless in all his life, and that was saying something. Hours in, he couldn't even manage to walk with Elpharose – the name he'd coined to himself for Elphaba pretending to be Nessarose all the while heaping abuse on him for every mistake.

"Not so low. She's my sister, you baboon. I don't care if she's going to be your wife; I don't need to picture that!"

He murmured an apology as he tried to turn her the wrong way, and they landed in a jumbled heap on the ground.

"Ow."

She slammed her eyes shut. "You're hopeless."

Undoubtedly, but her constant criticism wore on him. He couldn't focus. "You're a slave drive, you know that? This is what exhaustion gets you."

In answer, she shoved at his chest. "Going to let me up any time soon?"

"Not planning on it, no." If she was there, she wasn't barking orders in his ear. "I finally have you at a disadvantage. A foreign feeling to be sure, but it's growing on me."

"Get up. We have work to do."

He groaned and flopped his head on her shoulder. "Slave driver," he accused, helping her up. "Let's try the same direction this time, shall we?"

"Then stop trying to lead." She dusted off her dress and then pulled her arms tight to her sides.

He swallowed a laugh. As if she'd ever follow anyone. "That is the gentleman's role, as I recall."

"This isn't dancing, Fiyero. Would you want someone directing every move you made your whole life?"

That hit closer to home than she realized. "No, you're right."

He set his hand on the small of Elpharose's back and tried to transform her complaints into instructions. She stuttered a step onto the rug. He yanked her into his side, and they stayed upright.

Great. He celebrated not knocking her to the ground, now. Fantastic progress. He sighed.

"Maybe you should just stay and take care of Nessa?" Her steely gaze turned on him, and he backpedalled. "Not because I don't want to, but…" he flung out a hand to convey his frustration, "I'll never be as good as you are."

She smirked at him.

The more he thought, the more certain he was. "And she'd miss you, as I imagine you would her." She tensed, but he kept on, following her with a supporting hand stationed on her back. "And I'd miss you, too."

She huffed at him. "You've only known me a day."

"True, but I would." She stopped, and he turned to face her. "Could you? Stay?"

Please, Oz, say yes. The fierceness with which he wanted this took him by surprise, and so when she hid her eyes, he nearly tipped her chin back up. "That's it. You managed it."

He tilted his head.

"Walked. Turned. Stopped. Congratulations."

It took a moment for her taciturn words to dawn on him, and a sudden flood of pride and hope made him grin. He'd done it.

"Now we can work on sitting."

He groaned. "I thought I already did that? At breakfast?" Besides, she hadn't answered his question. If she stayed… No, that wouldn't be fair. He should learn this regardless, and the sooner the better.

"Then it should be easy." She sat primly in Elpharose mode. "Help me up."

He worried his lip, studying her. Then, in a rush of stupid frivolity and frustration, he wrapped her in his arms just to see how mad she would get.

"No, you idiot." She shoved him away. "What did I just say about the manhandling?"

He pled innocence and plopped in the chair opposite before he courted more mischief. "It's break time."

"You have work to do."

"And I'll do it – after a break."

She glowered at him, but he let it bounce off his grin. Sure enough, she rose to the occasion, growling and yanking at him. He smothered a laugh, and pulled back, which sent her toppling into his lap.

"Well now." He caught her with an arm around her narrow waist. "This is turning into a very entertaining break."

She scrambled off. "If you're not going to work, I'm going to leave."

His smile dropped away.

Of course. How could he forget? They weren't friends. She was only his taskmaster. "I'll tell you what, you tell me something about yourself, and I'll do something you want. If you want to try again, I will." The game had worked well in the past, but he doubted Elphaba would send him kissing his way over her neck in exchange for a whispered secret.

She argued, and he persuaded, until she surrendered. He had a feeling this might be the pattern for them. Fine, he could play his role. She finally confided, "I'm sixteen months older than Nessarose. Up you go."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Fine. But you know that's not what I meant."

How did she manage a smile both so smug and so beautiful?

"Who's Nanny?"

"I already told you something about me. Work."

"And I already did what you asked. I'm up, aren't I?" Her glare made an excellent trophy for this round. "So, Nanny?"

"Our nanny, obviously." He lifted an eyebrow. Come now. Did he have to sway her at every step? "She was our mother's also. Tough woman, very strict, but she loves us."

"Where is she?" He was breaking the rules, himself, but he found their lives fascinating. He wanted to know everything about them, how they lived, who they cared about, what mattered to them.

"At home with our sick younger brother." He hadn't even known they had a younger brother. "I took her place, so I'm stuck training you."

The words were no harsher than any she'd flung at him, but they found their mark more deeply this time. "Are you? I thought you wanted to help me."

"I do." Her head lifted with a regal air. "I promised."

The game lost its appeal, so he stood. "We should live up to that promise, I suppose." He fought a heavy heart to set a light hand a the small of her back. "Is this right?"

After a long, demanding afternoon, he walked her back feeling like he'd aged a hundred years. She sent him a sideways look at odds with her words, "You didn't do so bad today. Perhaps you're not entirely impossible."

"High praise from you, Miss Elphaba."

She pursed her lips. "Reluctant praise, you mean."

"Am I really so irritating?"

"I suppose not." He lifted an eyebrow at the admission, certain she'd take the opportunity for more snappy insults at his expense. "Goodbye."

"What do you mean? We're here to collect your sister for our evening walk."

Her face flooded with shock. "Is it so late?" He'd lost track of time, as well, and unless a miracle made it go unnoticed, he'd have quite a lecture to face. Elphaba shook her head. "You don't need me."

Lurline's Eye, he didn't. She toed toward the door, and he stepped between. "Maybe. But I want you." Her head jerked up, and he met her eyes with a guileless plea. "Please? Come with us. I'm sure Nessa missed you after a day apart."

"You'd use my sister against me?"

"That depends." He flashed a smile. "Is it working?"

She wilted. "Haven't you had enough of me for one day?"

He should have, as demanding as she'd been, but he found her as intriguing as ever. "Impossible," he said, a grin lighting his face. "I'd need at least a century to even begin to understand you, let alone tire of you."

She rolled her eyes. "You're incorrigible, you know that?"

"True. But we're to be family, so you'd best get used to it."

She made for the door again, and he caught her arm. She had to understand. The thought of going with Nessa, alone…Her eyes fell to his hand, and then back to meet his gaze.

She nodded. Oh, thank Oz. He let her go, and she slipped off to collect her sister.

He rested against the wall, trying to quell his nerves. A mistake would mean a thousand corrections from Elphaba, like old Miss Wuqil, his first tutor that had made him copy the solutions to his missed questions until his hand could not longer write. But she'd be there, at least, ready to swoop in at his disaster.

Nessarose appeared, and he bent in a courtly bow. False confidence forward, he led her out into the south garden and around the varied flowers.

He looked to Elphaba for warning, and her answering frown made his stomach drop. Hadn't he balanced right? He peeked again, and she downright vibrated with annoyance at him. He made an excuse and hurried over for the correction.

"What? Did I do it wrong?"

"You needn't look so terrified. My hope in helping you was not to make you so dependent on my approval."

That stung, in part because it was altogether true. "That's hardly fair. You spend all afternoon criticizing my 'brutish ways' and warning me not to hurt your sister. Are you so surprised that I'd worry about proving you right?"

"Just don't expect me to hold your hand on your wedding night."

She stormed off, and for a second the words hung in the air. That was unfair. He hadn't been that clingy, had he?

Nessa called him back, and he was at her side in an instant. She asked about a path, and he led her along it to the horse pastures. She fawned over them, and he focused his gaze on her. "Would you like to ride one?"

Her eyes lit brightly. But Elphaba snatched his arm and dragged him away. "Can I talk to you a moment?"

"Why?" He bent down to whisper, "I'd hate to be dependent on your approval."

Not his best moment, but a dark part of him enjoyed the flash of anger on her face. "So you're going to put my sister in danger to punish me?"

He shook his head. Oz, her nerve. "I see you still think so little of me. It's a horse, not a gunship full of pirates."

"She can't hold on, you idiot!" Her fingers hurt where they dug into his arm, and he set a hand on hers.

"But I can."

He pushed away from her and opened the gate. She trailed him with wild eyes. "What is wrong with you?"

He fought to keep his voice steady, though his frustration with her boiled through him. "It's just a horse, Elphaba. Perfectly safe. If you doubt me so much, why don't you see for yourself?"

She took a step back as it he might abduct her. "It's hardly the same." His eyes flicked up and held her gaze.

"It worked this afternoon."

She threw a furtive glance back to Nessa and gave him the look that would freeze the Thursk Desert. He bit down his impatience and swung up in the saddle. "Coming?"

With an uneasy glare at the horse, she fumbled up, and her obvious fear loosened the knot inside him. She kicked the horse in the ribs, and it shuffled, but from her reaction, it snorted and reared neighing "Death to Elphabas!" The girl threw her arms around Fiyero's shoulders, eyes wild.

His arm secured her waist, and she slammed her eyes closed. His lips ticked up.

"I hate to mention it, but…" he leaned in to whisper, "you're on backwards." Her face was priceless. "May I?" Her nose wrinkled, but she let him help her turn around. Every moment with her seemed harder to suppress either laughter or frustration, or usually both. "Only you."

"This thing is a death trap."

"Hardly." The stallion shuffled a step, patiently waiting. "You're fine. If you can spin around like that without me dropping you, I think I can handle a simple trot."

"What do you mean? You're going to make this thing run?"

He grinned outright at that. "No, trot. Now hold still before I make myself a liar."

Oz, she was adorable. He never would have guessed anything could frighten her, least of all something as mundane as a horse. Munchkins had horses, he knew, if a bit more plowhorse than stallion.

"Relax."

"How can I relax when you're trying to kill me?"

He barked a laugh. "Oz, you're impossible." The horse lengthened his gait, and Elphaba clutched his fingers tight.

"Is that it? This is revenge for this afternoon?"

"Why would I want revenge?" Honestly, she'd done him a favor, even if it had been rough on him. "This is supposed to be fun."

"For whom?"

"No one is forcing you to do this. You're the one who insisted I prove its safety. I merely offered to demonstrate."

She wriggled against him. "That's not how I remember it," and his laugh shot out of him so hard he bumped into her.

"Of course it's not." He led them to Nessa and waved at her. "We'll be right back." He explained her sister's ridiculous demands, while Elphaba listened on, lips and eyes shut too tightly to complain.

"My sister, the worrier." Nessarose rolled her eyes. "She looks so pale. Are you sure it's safe?"

"Perfectly." He flashed another patented charming smile, then set to work proving himself.

The slightest increase of speed had her shrinking against him, and only his chivalry kept him from deliberately weaving and racing. Slowly, the calm ride relaxed her back against him. She fell quiet, but given her usual battery of complaints and insults, he didn't mind.

She molded into him, her fingers light on his wrist. The dust kicked up in a musty cloud behind them, and he angled them in a loop. His thoughts quieted, too, and he let them just be.

A dreamy sigh floated from her.

"Ready to go back?"

She startled. "Of course. Get me off this thing."

He leaned forward to whisper, "You don't fool me, you know." Her shoulders stiffened, and he grinned. She could complain all she wanted, but he knew it. The Vinkus was growing on her, and him, too, if he had to wager. They'd be friends, yet.

She made a disparaging noise in her throat, but her eyes lingered in the clouds. The wind whipped strands of her hair free to tickle his face. The tenuous peace made him want to go another lap, but Nessa had waited enough for one day.

He reigned them over to her and dismounted with ease. Elphaba ignored his hand, of course, and landed with an oomph. "So? Have I proved it safe?"

"I suppose." She embraced her sister lightly. "Just be careful."

Her trust touched him, as protective as she was of Nessa. He would earn that trust.

Nessa weighed so little when he swung her up, it was like lifting a child. He mounted behind her, careful with her balance, and she leaned against him without hesitation. He started them off at a slow pace, attentive to her comfort and safety.

She tilted her head back to study the broad blue sky above them. "It's so beautiful here. I really didn't think…"

"In a desert?"

She blushed.

Not her first comment of the type, and he reassured her, "A surprise to most, I'm sure."

"You're so good with the horse; you must ride often."

He shook his head. "Not as often as I'd like."

"Oh, yes. Being a prince must be busy."

He chuckled, and she tilted her head in question. "Just, you and your sister. You couldn't be more opposite."

She lifted an eyebrow, but he didn't elaborate. How could he explain? She made him feel strong, capable, the best version of himself, while her sister made him feel that she'd seen his weakness, every bit, and trusted him despite it. Yet, their trust mocked him. He hadn't been able to protect Sarima: strong, whole Sarima. How could he protect this fragile beauty?

"Do you grow bryla here, too?"

"Hmm? Oh, no." He shook himself from his thoughts and entertained her with the various vegetation they passed. His diplomacy came easily to him, even here, and their pleasant ride and pleasant conversation led him to realize with a start that they had ridden farther than he'd planned.

He led them back. "Nessa, might I confess something to you?"

"Of course."

"I was a little… concerned about this marriage before we met." He'd had his whole life to get to know Sarima, after all. He pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek. "You are so much kinder and gentler than I might have hoped."

She flushed. "And you are more than I might have imagined, too." Her eyes bounced around the horizon. "Bless the Unnamed God for His providence."

"Indeed."

Her religiosity could...grow on him. He had no strong beliefs to challenge. Marriage took compromise. He could adapt. With much more confidence than he'd begun the day, he led them to dismount.

Then he saw his friend standing beside Elphaba and quickened his pace to help his bride down.

"Aruc! When did you arrive?"

"Not long ago." His friend clapped his back in a manly embrace. "Did you think I would see you married here without me?"

It had been too long. The formal words of greeting oozed with sincerity. "Your presence honors us."

"Not all of you, I'm afraid." He nodded toward Elphaba, who looked as if he'd forced her to eat a slug. "I seem to have already offended your future sister-in-law."

He barked a laugh. "You're hardly alone in that."

Aruc lifted his eyebrows. "Have you also offended the lovely Miss Noneofyourbusiness then?"

Fiyero grinned and sent her a knowing look. "Don't let her fool you. She's usually not half so annoyed as she seems."

"Or you're just twice as dull as Master Aruc," she snapped back, and he grinned.

"I like this," Aruc teased. "I've gone from pariah to preferable without a word. I knew there was a reason I kept you around." Fiyero snorted. As if Aruc hadn't chased his friendship since they were pups, one of the few whose interest held no shred of ambition behind it.

Aruc had moved on, clearly flirting with Elphaba. Now that was something he had to see.

As expected, her barbs ripped the flirtations to tatters. He only stepped in when Aruc made to kiss Nessa's hand. He ought to have warned his friend about the unique disability, and he intervened before anyone could be embarrassed.

"I know better than to try with Miss Noneofyourbusiness. I fear I would overstay my welcome with so lovely a hand."

The cool voice didn't hide her annoyance. "Indeed. Before you'd even arrived."

"So fiery!" Aruc sent Fiyero a conspiratorial grin. "You know what they say about temperamental girls. Passionate in all aspects, I should hope."

Fiyero flushed at that image implanted in his mind. "Aruc, do not overstep." Honestly, they were guests, and his future family. She did manage to make everyone forget themselves, didn't she?

Aruc was immediately chastised. He fumbled an apology, half-repentant and half-flirtation, and Fiyero foresaw a tedious night of keeping his friend out of trouble. Sure enough, Aruc whipped her into a fury and still didn't get the hint.

She spun to Fiyero with an accusatory, "He's a friend of yours?"

He burst out a laugh, separating them all the same. "Well, he's not usually so quarrelsome."

"Me? Quarrelsome!" Aruc held a hand to his chest. "I think you'll find I'm the picture of civility."

Fiyero snorted at that. Contempt practically vibrated from Elphaba, and he leaned down to whisper, "You're only encouraging him."

She snapped her arms in front of her chest. "Well, I'm not riding with him."

"Even dull as I am, I managed to figure that out." But in a move as chivalrous as it was protective of his poor, ignorant friend, he clapped a hand to Aruc's back before the boy could make more trouble for himself. "My dear friend, do kindly shut it."

"You'd pick her over me? Your longest and dearest friend?"

"In a heartbeat." He reclaimed his place at Nessa's side. "Shall we?"


	6. Irritants

Thus began a long, irritating night refereeing thorny Elphaba and amorous Aruc. It nearly came to blows, and Fiyero intervened. He sent the others off while he soothed the temperamental beauty lest she skewer his friend. Truth be told, he'd had enough of Aruc's over-enthusiasm himself. Had he no sense of propriety? They were at a palace, not a brothel for Oz sake.

Fiyero settled in. She'd make him work hard, but he'd already mapped the way to her good graces, and he trudged the difficult path again.

"For a prince, you have astonishingly terrible judgment at times, did you know that?" Her shoulders dipped, and he let his hand drop from the poppy he'd tucked behind her ear.

"Shall we rejoin them?" He nodded toward the reddening sun. "I shouldn't steal you for the entire sunset."

"Oz knows if Nessa's even still alive left that long with him." She twisted a sneer. "Hopefully he didn't topple her down the mountain."

The corner of his lips quirked up. "We're already at the bottom."

"Technicalities."

He laughed, and she tugged on his arm. "Eager, are we? Careful, or you might give Aruc hope."

She poked a finger at him. "You bite your tongue."

She slowed, trailing her fingertips through the flowers. He could understand Aruc's interest. She was very beautiful, as beautiful as her sister, if in a different way. Those magnetic eyes made quite a siren call, and with that exotic skin...he could understand.

"I'm impressed. Aruc's not normally so easily disarmed." He showed the tease clearly in his expression. "Particularly by a helpless girl."

He shouldn't have. Lurline, he'd just calmed her, but he couldn't seem to help himself around her. She spun and pinned his arms behind him. "And what does that make you?"

"Willingly caught?" Her body pressed close, and he batted away an image of how he'd retaliate if she were his intended. "Do you really believe I would be so unchivalrous as to fight a girl?"

She popped a hand to her hip and gave a sassy, "So you'll manhandle me, but not fight me?"

"Precisely." She tipped her chin up, and the realization of his attraction struck him at force. He slipped away to give himself space. "But you're stalling, and the sunset is not."

They turned the corner, and she gasped aloud.

Good. He'd guessed right about her reaction. He'd have to work out sunrise for her, at some point, too.

"How do you live here," she sighed. "How do you see this every day? Or doesn't it affect you after this long?"

A stab of guilt hit him. He should appreciate it more. They walked over, and Aruc caught his eyes, full of apology. "I'd begun to wonder if you hadn't absconded with that gorgeous firecracker just to keep her to yourself."

He shrugged. "She resisted."

That earned him a shove and a spirited argument about who took who prisoner, until Aruc spun a showy bow. "Please don't be cross. This drought of your presence has already instilled me with the deepest of regret." She shoved him off.

"Sounds like nothing more than a bunch of pretty words."

Aruc chanced a kiss to her hand. "What's the saying: pretty words for a pretty girl?" She snorted. "Were you wearing that flower before? It's very becoming on you."

Her light blush contrasted her frown. "That's what Fiyero said."

"Did he now?"

Aruc sent him a knowing look, but Fiyero strode past to wrap an arm around his fiancé. "Catch more flies with honey…" Maybe if Aruc would try that, Fiyero wouldn't have to defend him so much.

Nessa beamed up at him. "Isn't it beautiful?"

"And you'll get to live here," Elphaba breathed in a wistful tone that gave him hope.

"You, too, if you want," he murmured. Sooner or later, he'd convince her. She tipped her head onto Nessa's shoulder.

The moment stretched, long and lovely.

At last, Aruc braved the girl's turbulence. "In all sincerity, I am deeply sorry about before, Miss Elphaba. It was inexcusable." Not that it would spare him Fiyero's talk, but it did reassure him his friend's character.

Elphaba's smile, rare and radiant as a starburst, sunned on Aruc.

"Oh, Oz help me, have you seen this girl smile?"

Said smile evaporated. She edged toward Nessa, who fell into a religious diatribe that shattered the gossamer peace. He stayed out of the fray. Only directly asked did he dodge the traps Nessa set before him. He'd follow her religion, if he must, but he'd rather not be burdened so early in their courtship.

A steward came to call them, much to his relief, and they trooped in.

"Will you be joining us?" he asked Aruc, but his friend waved him away. "Tomorrow, then. I insist." Early enough for their discussion of responsible behavior, and the beginnings of a plan Fiyero might later regret.

At least Elphaba seemed mollified, though she still took the boldness to seat herself. He leaned down to whisper, "You know, that's hardly fair." After all the hoops she'd made him jump through? "I have half a mind to haul you up so I can seat you properly."

Her smug grin might have been flirtatious on another girl. "That would hardly be hospitable."

"Debatable."

He notified his parents of Aruc's plans to join them tomorrow.

His mother clapped a hand to her chest, delighted, and Fiyero made a face. He'd long suspected that his mother found his best friend appealing. To erase the thought, and for the sheer delight of seeing her blush again, he added, "In fact, he seemed quite taken with Miss Elphaba."

"Elphaba?" Frexspar's forehead scrunched.

Fiyero frowned. Of course he meant Elphaba; Nessa was engaged.

He stewed on it while maintaining his careful observations. After an afternoon, he felt more confident in Nessa's care, but there was so much to learn. He studied their interactions, how she held the spoon, how she tipped the cup, how she passed the food around her.

As he walked them to the door, a sudden fear worried he'd not clarified their plans. What if she considered him finished?

"Miss Elphaba, the book?" She sighed.

"Haven't we already discussed it enough for one day?"

Nessa eyes swung between them. "Is that where you were this afternoon?"

"I found the library," Elphaba waved, and Nessa nodded, as if that explained all. They drifted toward the door, and his desperation spiked. If she didn't help him, he feared he might still shatter his delicate bride. He caught her hand.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Oz, you're making me wish I'd never agreed to discuss this _book_ at all."

"Should I read this book, too?" Nessa asked, innocent and sweet. "If it's really that good…"

And then her father appeared. "What's going on?"

"They're discussing a book," Nessa offered, and the man wiped a tired hand over his face.

"No book worth discussing this late unless it's the Good Book. My apologies, Prince Fiyero, but the girls should be getting to bed."

"Certainly sir," he adopted a diplomatic tone. "But if I might have a moment with Miss Elphaba-"

"Elphaba?" Brother Frexspar interrupted, with that same confusion as at dinner. "Whatever for? Or did you mean Nessarose?"

She sighed. "I'll be a moment."

"No." She rolled her eyes at her father's forbiddance. "I'll not have you off causing more trouble for the prince tonight." Fiyero frowned. How had he gotten that impression? He started to explain, but the man held up a hand. "Whatever she's done, we'll handle it in the morning. Trust me, she'll get her due punishment. With your pardon, then-"

Irritation boiled through him, and Fiyero straightened his spine. "My apologies, sir," he bit out with a haughty tone, "but I would most courteously request a moment with your eldest daughter.

The effect was instantaneous. Rarely did Fiyero comport himself with authority, but he saw his father often enough. Frexspar quailed as Elphaba's eyes widened. Oz, she'd tease him mercilessly about this, wouldn't she? The man jerked a stiff nod and led Nessarose inside. Once out of sight, Elphaba yanked him a dozen paces down the hall. "Subtle," she quipped, and he ran a hand through his hair.

"Sorry, he just…frustrates me."

"Not used to getting told no?"

There might be some truth to that, too, but the longer he knew Frexspar, the more he understood his parents' distrust. "Is he always so hostile to you?" And dismissive? Why would her father be surprised in Aruc's interest? Two such beautiful girls, he should be used to suitors for the pair.

"Sh." Her eyes darted back to the door.

"You said tomorrow, right?"

She flung up a hand. "What do you think: I'll ride off in a carriage overnight?"

"How are we going to get away to…" he glanced back at the door, too, "discuss our book?"

"Okay, enough with the book."

He drew a heavy breath. "I think we should involve Aruc."

Her glare held supernova powers.

"Hear me out. You don't want Nessa to know, but we can't disappear and abandon her again. I feel awful enough about neglecting her today."

" _You_ do? She's my sister."

And his soon-to-be-wife, but he doubted that would assuage her. "She's my guest, and my people are very particular about the obligations of a host." He caught her hand. "If we tell him, Aruc can entertain her while you tutor me."

"And he would do this?"

"Aruc is my friend. He'll help us."

"I don't like it." She paced. "I don't trust him."

"You didn't trust me, either," he pointed out gently, and she narrowed her eyes.

"What says I do now?"

The way she'd leaned on him riding the horse. The way she'd let him talk her down. How she'd pressed into his side to edge back the disquietude as the sunset flared around them. He shrugged. "Better than the book discussion excuse."

"Lighting my hair on fire is a better solution than the books excuse." She worried her lip, and he held still. A wise negotiator knows when they've made their point, and when more pressure would backfire. Sure enough, she sagged. "Fine. We can think about it."

He itched to hear the word from her. "Does that mean yes?"

She dodged, unaware of his private game.

"You'll tell me tomorrow what you decide?"

"Yes." The word tumbled with a heavy sigh from her, and he grinned.

"Finally." He pressed a courtly kiss to her hand. "Rare and pleasing," he teased, and she patted his cheek.

"You're obnoxious."

"And charming, or so you say."

She rolled her eyes. "And irritating."

"Don't forget dull." A wide smile stretched his face.

"How could I?"

He bid her goodnight, grinning through her insults, and sent her off to her dreams.

The next morning, he pulled Aruc aside.

"I need your help."

"Of course," his friend answered without hesitation. One of the many traits he admired in Aruc. "What is it?"

Fiyero tossed a look over his shoulder, but Elphaba had Nessa busily engaged in conversation. "I need you to keep Nessa occupied." His friend tipped his head, but didn't interrupt. "I'm sure you've noticed her-"

"Unique silhouette?" Aruc palmed his neck. "Yeah, thanks for the warning. I kept staring at her, wondering if it was one of those awful fashionista dresses that Sarima's sister loved."

Fiyero fought the emotion her name still brought and crossed his arms. "That's another thing we need to talk about."

Aruc deflated, but Fiyero would not be dissuaded.

"They're my guests."

"I know."

"And my future family."

He knuckled his forehead. "I know."

"So you know my expectations."

"Yes, father," he snarked, but his palm found his neck again. "Look, I already apologized."

"And I had to, also." Fiyero set a hand on his friend's arm. "I'm not trying to be overbearing, but they're important to me. And now you know Elphaba. I had to work hard enough for her to give me a chance. If I vouch for you, and you don't treat them right..."

Aruc nodded. "A perfect gentleman, unless she gives me leave," he added a wink that made Fiyero laugh. "And I'll do my best to not to sweep Nessa off her feet, too, but you'll have to up your game if I'm to entertain her. You know how women fall for me. Sure you want to chance it?"

"I'll take the risk." He clapped his friend's back and turned to the girls, but Aruc stopped.

"Any chance you'd help me out a little, too? Friend to friend?"

Fiyero, having known his friend all his life, did not agree as readily as Aruc had. "With?" He didn't dignify that with an answer. "She's really gotten under your skin, hasn't she?"

"She's just so fascinating. And as you're taken now, I believe I'm entitled to some of the fascinating women myself."

Fiyero scoffed. "As if you didn't before."

"Now I have less competition." Aruc rounded into a pitiful expression. "So, are you going to help?"

"How? I think I've done as much convincing on your behalf as I'm able." Then he considered his own time with Elphaba. She couldn't be persuaded, but she could be shown. An idea dawned foggily in his brain. "Maybe I can give you the chance to convince her yourself. If you behave."

"Of course." The boy leaned in. "You really think you could?"

He waved a hand. "Sure. I should spend some time with my bride, too."

"Naturally." He nodded with a wide grin. "And I know how you value your guests."

"You'd better," Fiyero chastised, but Aruc clapped a hand to his shoulder.

"I would be happy to entertain your beautiful women for you."

He taught his friend enough to get through a walk, sparing the endless deprecation he'd received. Throughout, Aruc kept up questions of Elphaba, and he answered the little he could. When they rejoined the girls, Aruc grinned like the cat that ate the canary. Elphaba turned on Fiyero, instantly suspicious. Oh, she was not going to like this.

Aruc went right to work. "Who's up for a walk? I feel the need for fresh air."

"That sounds lovely." Nessa peered up at Fiyero, with fluttering lashes. "Do you think it's advisable in this heat?"

She wanted him to join, he knew, and he fought a pang of guilt. "If you follow the shade, you should be fine." He turned deliberately to her sister. "Shall I show you to the library again? I've some work to finish there," which he did, with no intention to finish, "but you're welcome."

"Perhaps you could show me that book?" The sole person unaware of their conspiracy, Nessa eyes danced between them, but Aruc unleashed his considerable charisma.

"You'd abandon me so soon?"

She stumbled over excuse or apology, he wasn't sure, because she never finished.

"Maybe after your walk, dearie." Elphaba whispered something that had Nessa whispering back. With so much convincing, he worried any moment she'd pick up on the blatant manipulation.

"Ladies," Aruc spread his arms wide, "you needn't discuss your attraction for me in whispers. Please, share." They fell into more bickering.

Fiyero waved her toward the stairs. "Come. Let's go before I have to pull you two apart again."

"If only," Aruc shot from the doorway. Fiyero marched her forward before she could run at him. Great, now she'd be in a terrible mood. Damn it, Aruc.

But when Elphaba asked, "Are you sure she'll be alright with him?" he had no qualms in a resolute defense.

She fussed over the plan, and he rubbed his eyes. "Stop worrying. I said you could trust me, and I meant it."

She huffed.

"Besides, you're going to be angry enough at me when you find Aruc's price."

Suspicion narrowed her eyes. "Why?"

Fiyero edged away. "He wants to trade: time alone with Nessa for time alone with you."

Her tone darkened dangerously. "And you said…?"

"He had to behave himself." She stormed off, but he caught her before she'd gone more than a step. "And he will. Or I'll make him. Believe me, if he tries anything improper, he will live to regret it. I swear. But Aruc is a gentleman. You've nothing to fear."

"It's not fear; it's disgust." She pulled away. "So I'm to suffer Aruc for the 'privilege' of teaching you?"

Her words tore at him. "Am I such a burden?" She offered no comfort. "What today, then, slave driver?"

She drove him to work, resolutely avoiding any turn in conversation beyond her sister's care. She snipped, and she sniped, and finally, she snapped, "Fine, you want to talk? What makes you think you're good enough for my sister?"

He frowned at the non sequitur. "Am I not?" She looked at him as if he were very stupid. No, not stupid, repulsive. "What have I done that's so terrible?"

She circled the same argument, his unsuitability for her sister, and his annoyance spiked. Oz knows he wasn't perfect, but he was hardly the worst pairing she might have faced. If he could keep an open mind, especially considering Nessa's unique impairment, why could she not?

Finally, his patience wore out. "Why? What about me is so inferior, so undeserving?"

"You don't love her!" She glared at him, her chest heaving and eyes shining.

"I don't know her, yet," he offered honestly, "but I want to love her."

"Wanting doesn't make it so."

Oz, wasn't that the truth. If so, his true bride would still be alive. Swamped in morose musing, he caught her hand. He studied her long fingers. "I won't take your place," he promised. "No one can love your sister like you do. I'm not taking her from you."

"You shouldn't marry her if you don't love her."

This idealism about love and marriage took him by surprise. Somehow, he doubted she would hold this belief for any but her treasured sister.

"My marriage to your sister is not a choice taken lightly. But when Sarima-" She tilted her head, and he clarified, "My fiancé, pledged at birth. She…" He drew a heavy breath, "She passed away before…" He pressed his lips together. "The politics of my people are complex. Any wife I marry from my homeland would threaten civil war."

If he expected sympathy, he received none. "Oh, yes, I'm sure a mail-order stranger is better."

"An outsider will rock them, yes, but with less disastrous results." Ripples. They spare the infighting, but perhaps at the cost uniting the tribes against them. Still, it offered their best hope. "It's the only way to avoid bloodshed."

"So don't marry."

He leveled a look. She knew better than that. "I must marry. I'm the crown prince and only heir."

"So you'd use my sister to satisfy your own political agenda?"

Why did this surprise her? Didn't she understand the point of an arranged marriage? "It's my duty to protect my people." He waved a hand. "She did consent, of her own free volition."

"Only because she thinks she's a burden," she snapped her arms across. "Which she is not."

Her dramatic glare begged him to roll his eyes. "Of course not. But she is not an unwilling captive, nor I a heartless villain. Show me how I might make my future wife happy, and I'll do what I can to make it happen."

She resumed their lessons with ill-humor, still spoiling for a fight. And it was difficult not to provide one. He was, himself, wearied by his failed attempts to comfort her, nerves raw with the grief he'd unlocked, however briefly, from its cage.

"See what you've done?" She whirled on him. "You've wasted the whole lesson with your talk. Now I've got to humor your loathsome friend for nothing."

She fled down the stairs despite his attempts to reconcile. Aruc sent him a nod. "Finished your work then?"

"No, but it can keep until tomorrow."

Elphaba harrumphed. He looked for an opportunity to repay Aruc, but Elphaba vibrated tension. Now couldn't be worse timing. She poked at Fiyero's nerves and poked and poked, with her sighs and glares and barbs.

They headed toward dinner, finally, but she grabbed his arm. "Don't.."

"What have I done now?" he breathed out.

"Don't look so hurt."

The command was so ridiculous, he almost didn't respond. But she'd find more offense, so he hung his head. "You spend an hour listing each of my faults, but I mayn't look hurt? How should I look?"

"Why does my opinion matter, anyway? You should care more about Nessa's. She's your fiancée."

Oz. He wasn't going to do this. Sometimes the wisest option was retreat. He pulled away, but her grip tightened on his arm.

"Aren't you going to say anything?"

He shrugged, "I am unable to speak without offending you, so I won't."

"You'll just ignore me?" She scoffed as if he were a wayward child.

"No, I shall allow you to ignore me."

He tried again to retreat, but she held him firm. "Why are you being so difficult?"

"Me?" He snapped, eyes wide with the injustice of it all. "You-" He forced himself back. This is what she wanted, and he wasn't going to play. "I apologize."

"You apologize?" She narrowed her eyes. "Even though you clearly don't."

"I'm not fighting with you, Elphaba." His frustration seeped in his tone, and it rang haughty to his ear. "If you insist on continuing this, you'll have to continue on your own."

Her hand found her hip. "So you're immune to emotion, then? Fantastic husband you'll make."

He tried to retreat a third time, and her hand snatched at him. He lashed out, frustration roiling through him. His hand slapped the wall behind her, and he crowded her back. Her disapproval itched under his skin, driving him mad. "Struggling to be polite," he bit out. Unlike some, he thought bitterly.

"Sorry it's such a struggle for you."

Uncowed by his outburst, the hurt still drifted into her big, brown eyes no matter how she tried to hide it. He forced himself to slow his heartbeat, taking measured breaths that fluttered the loose hairs framing her face. She stayed still, thank Oz, and slowly the tension drained.

He ought to move back, but if she started all over, he couldn't stand it. He couldn't meet her eyes, ashamed at his outburst. She swallowed hard, so quiet.

"No," he whispered. She shivered, and he traced a comforting hand down her cheek.

"No?"

He shut his eyes and relaxed his face. "It's not so hard to be kind to you. Despite your best attempts otherwise." Oz, this girl. How badly had she been hurt to fight this hard to keep him at arm's length? Empathy rolled through him as he thought of her father, and even, to a much lesser extent, her sister. All their demands.

"No, Elphaba. You won't get rid of me so easily," he promised. His thumb, still on her cheek, drew gentle circles as much to calm himself as to calm her. "Fight me, if you must. But I will care for you. And sooner or later, you will trust me."


	7. Baptized

AN:And of course I added this to the wrong story, lol. That Can Be Arranged is not actually updated...

* * *

If any witnessed their interchange, no one mentioned. The hall to the dining room stretched impossibly long. Fiyero still felt a raw mess of emotions, and Elphaba vibrated with each breath like a knife spinning toward its target.

"Good luck seating that one," he adopted a teasing tone. "She's faster than an ostrich and five times as stubborn?"

The dagger spun toward him, but Nessa offered a bemused, "Are ostriches stubborn?"

"Oh, when it suits them." He winked at her, and she grinned back. Thank Oz this agreeable girl was his responsibility instead of her impossible sister.

"We'll see." Aruc puffed out his chest. "She's never had me to contend with." Somehow Fiyero doubted his friend would have any more success.

Sure enough, she whirled away from Aruc's chair, and Fiyero seized the opportunity to claim the honor himself. She stopped mid-step. He swallowed a smug smile. Now she'd have to choose one of them. But she tipped her chin up and stalked haughtily to the chair on his other side. She faked a nonchalant tone, "So what's for dinner?"

He swallowed a laugh. At least he got under her skin as much as she did his. He leaned down with a discrete whisper, "I've graduated then? I'm surprised you trust me to feed her after extolling my faults before."

Her surprise spread so comically over her face, he found all his previous frustration assuaged. "Fine, trade me."

"On one condition." At such a rare moment of opportunity with her, he had to capitalize. "Stop forcing yourself to hate me."

A catty smile narrowed her eyes. "It comes quite naturally, I'm afraid."

He did laugh, then, and stood to trade. The parents paraded in, a brisk measure to his father's walk that spoke trouble. Brother Frexspar's lips pursed, and he questioned anew what caused his normally diplomatic father to be so abrupt?

Almost in answer, her father snapped, "Elphaba, you needn't stand. You're not a man." As if such a statement were remotely necessary. Elphaba sent back a cool response, and her father corrected her with a glare. "Sit down. There's nothing wrong with where you were seated."

Fiyero frowned at the palpable tension, and over such an inconsequential request as to trade seats. He nearly moved anyway, but his father's tilted head held him at bay. So her father was allowed this rudeness? How?

"You must let this ridiculous obsession with your sister's frailty go," Frexspar continued, "Nessarose will sit beside her fiancé. He is responsible for her, not you."

Fiyero winced. How those words must have landed for her, so sharply aimed at her wounds. Her nostrils flared, and he rushed to deflect her. At this rate, she'd fly into a rage that would earn her a public flogging, or at the minimum ruin any chance to convince everyone she ought to stay indefinitely.

He tugged her down with a clandestine hand around hers. "Mother, Aruc has kindly joined us for dinner." As expected, she seized the opening to change the conversation. Oz bless her.

When all eyes drifted from them, he risked releasing her hand. "I know you're unhappy with me, but I'll do my best to take care of her," he promised in tones so soft he worried she might not hear. "Tell me what to do, and I'll do it."

The venom in her voice laced the whisper with more hiss. "You couldn't have just traded me seats?"

"I'm sorry." He ought to have when she'd first asked. No wonder she lashed out.

"What are you two whispering about?" Frexspar barked, and Fiyero's head jerked up in surprise at being addressed as such. "Prince Fiyero," he adjusted his tone, "you needn't baby her. She'll sulk regardless, I'm afraid." He snapped out another demeaning ultimatum, and Fiyero couldn't believe no one intervened.

"Not at all, sir. I merely…" What then? He couldn't exactly say he'd been asking how to feed Nessa. "…thought to put in a good word for Master Aruc, if she'd consider his appeal. He's taken quite an interest in Miss Elphaba."

His father's lifted eyebrows informed him of his mistake, as did Aruc's red face. He hadn't meant to imply an appeal so much as his friend's appealing nature, but before he could clarify, his father rebuked, "Perhaps that's best done elsewhere, son. After Master Aruc has addressed the matter with her father." He knew that tone. Shut up, it said, though his father would never be so crass.

"Of course. My apologies."

Well, he'd made a mess of that. Aruc rushed out his own apologies compelled by Fiyero's rash, brainless error, and his mother again managed to soothe over the matter. Oz. What was the matter with him tonight?

He waited as long as he dared to ask her again, and with such an abundance of caution, his contrition must be clear at least. She whispered instruction, so much to communicate in near-silent snippets forced under the cover of surrounding conversations that the only possible ending was failure.

She gave a frustrated sigh. "Oz, there's too much. Just…try to use good judgment."

What desperation she must feel at that. Her faith in him could fit in a bryla seed and not even register. "I'll try."

"I'll let you know if you do something wrong."

"Oh, I'm certain of that," he chuckled and turned to Nessa. "Chicken?"

Nessa fluttered her eyes at him. She must have wondered who would feed her, and the intimacy of her intended doing so flooded her cheeks with color. She reached for the bite he offered, pretty lips parted. It felt wrong, somehow, as if they should have more privacy for this. A kick startled him, and he half-spun to face Elphaba before he caught himself.

"Closer, you idiot," she snapped.

He hoped she could tell he'd nodded. More whispered instructions followed nearly every other bite, and he struggled to manage his instructions, his conversation with Nessa, and his dinner, all at once.

He nearly dropped a forkful of peas on Nessa when Elphaba kicked him again, but his intended forgave him with a placid smile and no further comment.

"Let her chew."

He met her eyes with a brief acknowledgement. "Do you have a prayer wall here in Vinkus as well?" Nessa asked, and before he could reply, her sister's foot knocked against him again.

He reached out blindly and caught the girl's knee under the table. "I believe the Scrow have the Wall of Sorrows, but I confess I'm not the most adept at geography." Elphaba wriggled below his hand. He kept a heavy hand in place as he scooped a bite of chicken to his mouth, blowing on it to cool.

"Let go," she hissed.

"Stop bumping me then." Her thin knee twitched, and his thumb automatically traced soothing circles. "I'll check in, I will. But you're going to knock food all over her."

The stewards came to clear the first course, and with a start, she set to the untouched dish. "Elphaba! Manners!" her father barked. Of course, ever critical.

"It's easy to have an appetite with food this delicious."

His eyebrows shot up at her. "Why, I do believe that was your first actual compliment."

"Don't get used to it." But the shadow of a smile drifted over her face before she suppressed it.

They went back to work. Elphaba's continuous presence lessened the uneasy intimacy he'd felt. By the end of dinner, he felt fairly confident that he'd managed not to butcher the task. When they slipped out, he caught Elphaba's attention. "Well?"

"What?"

He rolled his eyes at her practiced ignorance. "Dinner. How terrible was I?" She didn't answer at first, those insightful eyes weighing him.

"Not that terrible." The breath he'd been holding rushed out, and she chuckled. "Were you worried?"

His face crumpled in disbelief. "Of course! Miss 'I'll let you know if you do something wrong.' I could hardly breathe all night with you watching me like a hawk."

The Elphaba from this afternoon would have snapped at him, but she seemed in better humor as well. She swallowed a smug smile. "Good. Keep you on your toes."

"As if you'd ever let me anywhere else," he bantered back. "Do you enjoy keeping others off balance?"

"Oh, like you don't?"

They felt to amicable teasing. Oz, how did he keep her like this, playful and vibrant and not bent on his destruction?

"Poppies." They both leaned back as a bouquet shoved itself at her, concealing a wide-eyed Aruc. "Striking flowers for a striking girl."

Fiyero laughed before he caught himself.

"Quite fitting, yes?"

Elphaba turned to him, silently watching through narrowed eyes for his response.

"I'd say so." An understatement. Elphaba didn't strike, she consumed. "Though not the best of compliments. You should take better care with your choice of words in honor of our sharp-witted Miss Elphaba."

"What would you say, oh, sovereign of romance?"

He wagged his finger. "You'd get me in trouble, complimenting another in front of my fiancée."

"If you're unable to…"

He pursed his lips at Aruc. "Such a lackluster taunt. I'd expect more from you."

Nessa giggled, and he searched her face for annoyance. Foolish as he could be, he knew better than to compliment another girl in front of his fiancée. But she seemed pleased with the whole jest, and he justified to himself that he ought to focus on her amusement.

"Fine. But only under duress and qualified with no comparison to the delightful Miss Nessarose."

Nessa offered the predictable allowance, and Fiyero flashed her a conspiratorial grin. Then he turned on Elphaba.

Somehow he felt certain that despite her remarkable charisma, she had limited experience receiving compliments. Aruc may have been underwhelming, but Fiyero...he knew how to give a compliment. Feed a bride with no arms? Debatable. Appease a stubborn force of nature? Clearly not. But give a compliment, oh, that was no contest.

"See, Aruc," and though he addressed his friend, his eyes did not leave his target, "you mayn't use any praise which could be turned with the slightest measure of cunning to mean any critique."

"Cunning?" She pursed her lips. "Well, you're doing spectacularly thus far."

"See?" He sent Nessarose a wink. "Too intense a compliment, and she'll dub you insincere." Elphaba smirked. "Or unreliably affected, no matter the truth." Her smirk soured at him. He enjoyed the opportunity to goad her for a change. "Too modest a compliment, and you'll offend her the same as an insult. Better none at all."

She seized at the chance to end the attention. "I do believe that's the best I've heard yet."

"No, no." Not while he was enjoying himself so much. "Praising the exacting Miss Elphaba is not for the weak of heart. But." He paused to kiss Nessa's cheek with cocky showiness. "I am no coward, so I shall persevere."

Her eyes met his with a challenge of their own. "Is not an ignorant fool wiser than an arrogant man aware of the danger but dismissive of it?"

"Keep your riddles from me," he teased with a wagged finger and comical grin. "I'll not be distracted."

"It seems that's all you shall be."

Oh, is that so? He let his eyes travel her face. "Beautiful as she is, Aruc, you cannot praise her appearance to her satisfaction."

"You find me vain?" She barked a cold laugh. "Hardly!"

"Precisely." He thought of the sunset, her fingers flowing through the flowers. "Your unnecessary humility keeps you blind to any truth in that respect."

Her eyes widened, just a moment, before her chin tipped up. "How do you know? Perhaps that's exactly how I'd prefer praising."

"No, you shan't mislead me," he teased. He allowed a flirtatious intensity in his gaze. "With cautious weighing of words, I would praise Miss Elphaba for her astounding wit despite its use in dispatching poor suitors to tatters."

The coy pucker to her lips held back mirth rather than the displeasure she hoped to signal, he'd bet his life on it. She lifted an eyebrow, and he lifted one back. That magnetic pull tugged at his gut again. He ought to compliment that, if he dared.

"So…you'd say?" Nessa asked, her smile clear in the words.

"Miss Elphaba," he drowned the moniker in sincerity and admiration even as his lips found her hand in a courtly kiss, "you're the cleverest person I've met or am likely to in the foreseeable future."

She blushed prettily. "Is that long, the foreseeable future?"

"Have I chosen poorly?"

Her lips puckered, and she sighed, "I suppose not. Better than Aruc at least, though I could have done without the show."

He grinned widely at her very meager praise. He spun to his bride, and Nessa beamed up at him.

"Splendidly done." He bent in an arrogant bow, and Aruc kicked him over.

"Isn't one pretty girl enough for you, or must you charm them all?"

He jumped an enigmatic eyebrow and returned to his fiancée. "What shall we do this evening, Miss Nessarose?" Please, don't say prayer. He banished the unkind thought and brushed a thumb over her cheek. "Your wish is my command."

She deflected, and he pressed on, "I have it on good authority you're quite the singer. Is that so?"

Aruc volunteered to go first, but Fiyero put a stop to the offensive tavern song before it reached the verse regarding certain anatomical markers. Nessa followed with a song as conservative as Aruc's had been bawdy. He praised her anyway, and she blushed sweetly. Elphaba had the next turn, and he had to admit a fair amount of curiosity at to what she would sing. She had been a walking contradiction thus far. Perhaps she would sing the Munchkinland national anthem or a naval ballad that would make even Aruc blush.

The first note stole his breath, and no other returned it.

The tune wasn't happy, or sad, or anything other than indescribably earnest. Oz, the truth in it. Like she unzipped her skin to become bare and vulnerable there in front of them, unafraid and unashamed. He couldn't for the life of him register the actual words, so hypnotic did he find her voice. He was no stranger to beauty, but this… She split him down to the soul, touched it, made it hers.

The tune faded, and the blissful expression on her face flooded him with a crushing desire to draw her to him. It made no sense, the intensity of his reaction. He would worship that voice like Nessa worshipped her Unnamed God. He would wage wars and swear oaths and tear down mountains to hear her again. Lurline.

Aruc swore the word aloud, staring at Elphaba with wide eyes. The silence drew corporeal, oppressive. She turned those doe eyes on him, and he struggled to find words. "That was…so…so, very…"

She fidgeted. "You next, Fiyero."

His eyebrows jumped up. "What am I to sing to follow that?"

"You promised," she accused, fairly. He ought to keep it, but Oz. He still could barely breathe. She tried to tug him up, and he pulled her to him. "Elphaba," he sighed, her name an endearment weighted in admiration, "That was breathtaking. I can't disturb that perfection."

"You're being dramatic."

He was, and making her uncomfortable, but how could she expect less? He gave up trying to understand the visceral reaction it caused in him.

"It's just a song."

He tipped her face to his. "And yesterday was just a sunset."

She flushed, and Oz help him if he couldn't tear his eyes from her. Aruc had recovered enough to tease her with lighthearted compliments, and Nessa joined in on the praise. But Fiyero still felt trapped in the moment he last heard her, baptized by the fire of her song, and forever changed. He was staring, he knew that. He should stop, his better sense informed, but his eyes did not listen.

Who was this girl, this impossible, incomprehensible, amazing girl?


End file.
